Stages of Influence
by lillialyce
Summary: Dark. Onesided Boss!Spain/Chibi!Romano. Spain aimed to control every aspect of Romano's life. That was what love—their love especially—was, wasn't it?
1. Part I

**Do _not_ read if you are offended by this. Warnings for, in this part and future ones, shota, masturbation, and noncon/dubcon. Deanon from the kinkmeme.**

* * *

><p><strong>fantasy<strong>

"Good morning, Romano," Spain grinned, perching himself on his knees and moving closer so his face was centimeters from his henchman's. Romano's eyes fluttered open, and he stared at Spain unsurely for a few moments (those dark, long lashes brushing lightly against his cheeks). He snarled at Spain's smiling face.

"It's not morning, dumbass." He turned onto his side, so Spain was only able to see his back. But it _was_ morning. The sun was up and shining to signal the new day; dawn was long past, and Spain, who was normally still sleeping—not a morning person by any standards—was wide awake. "Get your eyes checked." His breathing remained uneven, though, so Spain could tell that Romano hadn't yet fallen back asleep.

Spain said nothing for a while, watching the little shifts in Romano's movements, tiny fingers grasping at the sheets and pulling them closer, tiny legs kicking the blankets away despite it all. He licked his lips, focusing on the bare shoulders and back so graciously provided for him to see.

(The arches of Romano's little boy curves were accentuated by the light in the room, shadows showing the curves where bones were present, where soft skin gathered.)

Why did his henchman tempt him so? Never before had a _child_ been Spain's destruction, and never again would he find himself so weak. (Or so he thought.) Romano was hurting him in this way, doing things to his heart and mind that should never happen, should not exist.

Spain bit his lip, worry setting into his face before hiding behind a mask of indifference. He wasn't conquering the New World by considering their feelings, so he wouldn't conquer his lackey by considering his motives.

He watched as Romano stretched a little, undoubtedly soft skin tempting him like it always had before.

Romano wouldn't notice, would he? Romano was a heavy sleeper, a lazy boy. The chances of Romano turning around were slim, the chances of Romano even understanding what was going on, even slimmer. And there was a thrill to doing this while Romano was right next to him, a unique feeling that he _loved_ almost as much as he loved his little henchman.

Besides—he shivered as Romano took a breath—Romano was the one forcing him into this; Romano was the one without the decency to sleep with clothes, without the thought to cover up his delicious body.

(Was God really watching now? Could He see what Romano was doing to Spain? What Romano was _forcing_ Spain to reduce to?)

He waited for about five minutes, waited for Romano to do something or nothing, before deciding to go for it.

Spain slid his hand down the waistband of his pants. He brushed against his cock with the gentleness he imagined Romano would have. Shivering, closing his eyes, and squeezing himself with more roughness, he scratched at the (throbbing, aching) shaft and gasped.

Romano wasn't gentle at all—though he would be at first, slow and hesitant and unsure of what he was doing, because he was so _young_—and if Spain was more forceful, it would be more realistic, more like Romano.

Pretending the blankets were no longer covering Romano's body, he pictured Romano's cock, so small and able to fit in his hand. He imagined touching it, pressing his lips along the length and feeling blood pulsing in the veins. It would be so hot. Spain rubbed at his own cock with renewed vigor. His pants were uncomfortable covering him, and he wanted to free himself.

Hypothetically, he would spread Romano's legs and wrap them around his waist. . . but if Romano's legs weren't long enough, maybe Spain could just take him from behind. . .

More content with that mental image, he imagined flipping Romano onto his stomach so that cute little ass could wave in the air for him. _Take me; take me_, it would say. Romano would beg for the same thing. He imagined fondling those sweet ass cheeks (maybe spanking Romano for being such a cruel little henchman, taunting Spain every day), running his tongue down the crack and swirling it around the twitching hole.

He squeezed himself harder, biting back a moan. The taste would be a little salty, yes, but still delicious. He'd revel in Romano's cries, his trembling body as he struggled to support himself while Spain touched him.

What a mess Romano would be, if Spain had control.

Romano was beautiful, a part of the Spanish Empire that gave both nothing and everything to Spain. He was a sin, a sin that whispered cruelties and truths, a sin that made Spain do things he'd never before wanted, things he'd never before desired.

(Spain hated himself for not understanding, but he ignored any attempts to try whenever Romano came near. Why bother understanding, when he could just _take_, take like he was destined to do?)

Spain would part those ass cheeks and slide his tongue around that hole, in and out, around and around, until it was deliciously wet and demanding for attention from Spain's much larger cock.

He could fantasize all day about this. He'd force his tongue into Romano's hole, savoring the taste and the smell and the feeling. It would be so hot, so so hot, and it would turn him on much more than he would have already been turned on.

Romano, despite his teary eyes and whimpers, would be hard as well. He'd beg for Spain to take him, beg to be fucked in the dirtiest ways possible.

His amber eyes would be wide, imploring, and his mouth would be parted, little tongue darting out to lick his lips. That odd hair curl that stood up on his head would droop, and he'd twiddle his fingers. But, as he was Romano, appearances were deceiving. "Fuck me hard, Boss Spain, Antonio," Romano would demand after that _lie_. "Fuck me like the powerful Empire you claim you are."

Spain slid one of his hands under his shirt and tweaked his nipples, holding back a loud groan. (How wonderful it would be wonderful if Romano could do this for him. Romano, with his tiny hands, would grab and twist Spain's nipples until they were hard.)

Spain's fingers around his cock were hot, being gentle and being rough and rubbing at a fast pace. He was getting lost in the fantasy.

They'd both need to be lubricated enough, of course, so he'd grab Romano by the hair and pull him to a sitting position, setting that tiny mouth in front of his cock. Romano's expression would show his disbelief, slight anger twisting his face because of lack of confidence, and he'd open his mouth a little and wet his lips.

"It's so big, Antonio," Romano would say. But he'd take in as much of Spain as possible, eager to please his Boss. Romano's mouth would be hot, his tongue swirling around the head of Spain's cock. Romano would moan more than Spain (like a male nymphomaniac), lapping up the precome and sucking hard on his Boss.

Spain groaned loudly, arching his back as he twisted one of his nipples and pumped his cock. His fingers were a little cold as he squeezed his balls and tilted his head back.

He'd position himself properly in front of Romano's ass, leaking enough precome to make the process easier, if Romano's saliva wasn't enough. "Shove it in there, dammit!" Romano would yell, and Spain would be thrilled to comply. The tightness and heat of Romano's ass clenching around his cock would make it difficult to set a steady pace, but he'd find a way. . .

"You okay?" Romano turned to face him, the noise startling. "Spain?"

The walls of his imagination crashed around him, leaving cracked openings for reality to grow and settle in. Cheeks tinted a light pink, he smiled awkwardly at his henchman. His hands did not leave his cock, remained buried in his pants.

Romano stared at him, eyes wide as he scrambled as far from him on the bed as he could. Spain's mouth went dry; his heart pounded.

"What're you _doing_?" Romano's face was bright red compared to Spain's.

It was the expression on Romano's face, the fact that Spain had gotten caught for the first time (along with the intoxicating mental image of Romano coming with Spain's first thrust) that made Spain come _hard_ into his hand. "My Romano," he breathed, and he collapsed into the sheets, panting. Romano stared at him, not quite understanding what had just happened.

"Idiot."

**possession**

He had small, twig-like arms. Spain wasn't surprised to see that Romano couldn't do chores with them (or maybe he was just looking for an excuse), but he couldn't help but keep assigning chores. He'd watch from the sides, watch as his incompetent lackey knocked down shelves and broke precious memories and spread dust and dirt everywhere.

Spain sighed.

Romano screeched, spinning around and glaring at Spain. "Stop looking at me, dammit!" The broom in his hands had somehow become a weapon, and Spain was half expecting to be whacked on the head with it. (Or at least lose another vase.)

"Can't a Boss watch his cute little henchman 'cleaning' the house?" Spain smiled, reaching forward and patting Romano on the head. Silky brown hair slid through his fingers, and _oh _how he would love to touch more, even though it would be wrong, wrong, wrong. Romano was so _warm_. "Romano?"

Face a cherry red, Romano puffed his cheeks and scowled. "Don't _watch _me!" His broom swung, and Spain was sure Romano was aiming for him, but his aim was terrible. The swing missed Spain and hit a small figurine instead. It shattered to pieces on the floor. The sound was petrifying, and while Romano looked sad for making the mistake of breaking something else, he glared at Spain. "Look what you made me do, you stupid, perverted bastard!"

Spain stared at the ground. "Do you need help cleaning it up?"

"I can do it myself," he snapped, rolling his eyes and bending down.

Under the bulging skirts that swished and swayed with every step Romano took were two, pale (from lack of exposure), delectable legs. Spain licked his lips, trying to resist the urge to lift those skirts higher, to see more beautiful baby skin. He wanted to see the white panties he'd forced Romano to wear; he wanted to see Romano's quivering knees when he lifted the dress.

_Resist._

Spain was rooted to the spot, the sudden desire to raise Romano's skirts overtaking his body. Romano was so cute, so little. Spain wanted to touch touch _touch_. Tiny calves leading to knobby knees and trembling thighs and a little cock. . . He _needed_ it.

That night, so many weeks ago, was etched in his mind.

"Let me help you," Spain found himself growling, and he kneeled to the ground and placed his hand on Romano's. Romano's hand was so small in his, so soft to his touch. He squeezed gently, a small breath escaping his lips because, _yes_, he had finally been able to _touch_.

Romano blushed and looked down (the perfect, beautiful image of the subservient henchman Spain had originally wanted—but that wouldn't be the Romano he was growing fond of), then glared at Spain. "_You_ do it then." He stood up, and for another moment, Spain caught a glimpse of those luscious, barely covered calves. His mouth went dry, and he licked his lips to remedy it.

"Roma. . ." His fingers itched to grab hold of those fluffy skirts and drag his child down to the ground, down with him to the depths of Hell (because God condemned this love on so many levels), drag him down to Hell as he pressed his lips to places on Romano's skin that Romano would have never even thought of touching.

Oh, how disappointed God would be. But God never dealt with Romano, the beautiful child sent from a mix of Heaven and Hell, the beautiful boy who demanded attention with every deliberate action he dealt.

Romano's scowl was so pretty, and the words that left his lips, despite their ugliness, sounded _gorgeous_ to Spain's ears.

It was the first night Spain took his henchman.

**control**

"Vargas?" Romano made a face, crossing his arms and glaring at Spain. "That's stupid."

_(Vargas _wasn't an Italian name by any standards, and Romano probably knew it, just as he'd been catching on to the subtle hints that Spain had been dropping as of late. Still, Romano must have been hoping for a more. . . Italian name. He was _Italy_, or at least a part of it, after all.)

Spain patted his henchman on the head so the soft, light-brown hair slipped between his fingers. He fought down the urge to yank on Romano's hair. "It's not _stupid_; it's going to be your new name!" His voice was light, and he was smiling, but his eyes were purposely unreadable.

If he was going to keep Romano forever, he needed many ways to solidify their relationship. Romano was his his _his_, and this name change would prove that.

Romano took a step back. "Who says I _want_ a new name?"

"All nations have human names," Spain continued, licking his lips. Romano had such a cute face. "As your Boss, I'm assigning you a really good one to show my authority."

The more authority Spain had, the less chances there were of Romano leaving. Romano had to stay with him forever, Romano was _his_. He couldn't risk anything, he had to _make_ South Italy a part of Spain.

"Like you haven't influenced me enough, bastard," Romano grumbled. "You already fucking own my inheritance; isn't that enough for you?" He kicked at the ground, the pout on his face making Spain take his objections much less seriously than he was already taking them. "Besides, I already _have_ a name from when I lived with that jerk Austria. And he'd changed it from when I—"

"I'm your Boss now, so I decide what to call you." Spain clapped his hands together. "It just shows how much you love and appreciate your Boss, right? How much control I really have?"

(Control. Control. Control. If Spain had his way, he'd hold Romano forever, he'd never let go. Those nightly rituals only proved how much he loved Romano. His sweet little Romano. . .)

"Like anyone would appreciate _you_, dumbass." Romano considered Spain's thoughts, a frown decorating his face instead of the usual scowl. "You reign over me enough as it is."

Spain's sight was crimson for a moment, and visions of the New World—and the land and the wealth and the power and the glory that had come with conquering it—controlled him. More more more. He needed _more_. "Not enough," he pushed it all aside, "because you never listen to me."

"You're a terrible boss," Romano said, as if it was explanation enough.

Spain wondered if he should be offended before deciding, at last, that he wasn't. "And as your Boss, I have complete power over you. You're supposed to do as I say, when I say it, but I've been lenient because you're a child." (Though he didn't treat Romano as a child, especially not at night, he couldn't deny it.)

They both stared at each other, and there was a brief moment of understanding between the two that they would never again share, at least until Romano was older.

". . . I still don't think I need a new name." Romano stared at the ground before looking up at Spain.

"You don't have a choice."

"I didn't have the choice to move in with you, either!" he snapped. Spain observed him with practiced distance, a neutral, oblivious expression on his face. Romano's voice grew soft. "Let me keep my original name."

Romano's original name—the one his grandfather had given him before he'd taken Veneziano and left Romano behind, the one he'd had before Austria had given him something a little more German—had been so completely _him_, so completely _Italian_, Spain could understand not wanting to let the name go.

And he would have conceded to that, too, under other circumstances, when he wasn't blinded by the scoldings of his boss, the pseudo-peaceful discussions he'd had with other empires, the fact that Romano was a _child_ and Spain was the _Boss_ and if he didn't have control over _something_ when he was already starting to lose control in the New World he was going to lose everything and _goddammit_ he needed to keep Romano.

Romano was _his_.

He bit his lip, considering for the last time, how this would affect Romano. He had to do it: "I don't think so, Lovino. Your name has to be Spanish because I'm your Boss."

Romano stared at him for a couple seconds as the name, hidden beneath the layers of his other words, processed through his mind. (_Lovino. Lovino. Lovinare. Rovinare. Rovino. Rovino. Lovino._) Then it became very clear to him exactly what the name meant.

Spain wasn't exactly trying to hide anything.

"_That_'s the name you chose?" Romano stomped his feet on the ground, fists clenched. His face was a light pink, slowly blossoming to a splotchy, darker shade.

Spain watched the expression on Romano's face shift from something close to tears to something else. He didn't bother trying to interpret it; he had more important things to look over, things to deal with that weren't as trivial as this. "Yes."

"Goddammit, you fucking _bastard_! Why would you even. . ." He clenched his fists, glaring at Spain with all his might. "Why would you fucking choose that?"

There was a short pause where Spain wondered whether it would or would not be the best time to voice his true opinions. Expressions flickered across Romano's face that Spain never had the ability to interpret.

"It's appropriate," Spain smiled, an innocent look falsely dancing in his eyes, despite the full knowledge that Romano was insulted and hurt and would _despise_ the name and its connotation until the day when Spain would take it away and change it, "don't you think?"

Romano screeched. His eyes seemed teary, but Spain forced his mind away from the situation and refused to look into it. Didn't Romano see? The name would bring them closer, would show that Spain was the one with the greatest role in Romano's life.

"Appropriate, my _ass_! One day I'll be independent from you and your stupid house and you'll _see_! I'm not keeping a dumb name like this! You wait!"

(That day of Romano's supposed independence, of course, was a long time coming. Spain would be in charge of South Italy for a long time, and he would make his influence impossible to ignore.)

Spain clucked his tongue, ending the discussion. He had work to do. "You're so very cute, Lovino Vargas. So very cute indeed."

**communication**

Romano licked his lips, the usual frown adorning his features as Spain watched his little henchman interact with the guard. The words flowing from Romano's mouth were an odd combination of Spanish and Italian. The language was beautiful, yes, but it was still very odd.

"Lovino," Spain called, waiting until the guard had left to ask for Romano's attention. "Come here."

Fiddling with the collar of his shirt, he started toward his Boss. Romano's cute little lips were pouty, and Spain resisted the urge to kiss Romano again. Romano wasn't ready to reciprocate yet, Spain didn't think.

"What?" he snapped, his hands on his hips like a little girl.

Spain's grin slipped from his lips when he remembered he was supposed to be serious at the moment. Thinking of serious matters (the New World, his armada, gold), he pressed, "Speak to me in Italian."

Romano stared at Spain for a long time, an unreadable expression on his face. "Why?" he said finally.

Thinking of a quick excuse wasn't one of Spain's fortes, but he managed, somewhat. "I haven't heard you speak in Italian in a long time, Lovino. It's always Spanish."

"Because you said I couldn't speak Italian anymore, dumbass!" Romano's glare was fierce, but his voice shook a little toward the end of his exclamation. "You said. . ." His hands clenched into fists, and his voice became more desperate. "You said I'm never supposed to speak Italian around you!"

Spain was surprised that Romano had taken his _threats_ so seriously. "For now, at least, let's talk Italian. I'll start, if you want."

Romano looked at the ground before letting out a huffy breath. "Stupid bastard. Fine." He bit his lip before speaking, and the words that left his tongue were neither Spanish nor Italian, a peculiar blend of the languages becoming a dialect of the language Romano once called his own.

"Lovino?" Spain was a little annoyed. Whatever Romano had just said, it hadn't been the Italian he'd been so adamant about speaking when they'd first begun living together. "I told you that you can speak Italian now. So speak it for Boss, alright?"

"I just _did_!" Stomping his foot, Romano let out a barrage of curses, a mix of Spanish and the odd little not-Italian (dialect) _thing_ he was now speaking. "There!" he snapped at the end of his tirade. "Are you _fucking_ happy?"

Sighing, Spain let out an impatient breath. "Fine, Lovi, don't speak Italian for Boss. That was your last chance."

"I just fucking _spoke_ it!" Romano growled, his glare even more powerful than before. "Fuck you!"

Spain had made it a rule—especially after how difficult it had been to teach Romano the language—that any part of the Spanish Empire _had_ to speak Spanish, or he'd _punish_ them. He'd never had the intention on punishing Romano. (Numerous times, though, he'd had to discipline the New World countries.) With light, pattering footsteps, Romano fled from the room.

"Lovino!" Spain called after him, following his lackey away.

"Don't call me that!" His voice carried to Spain's ears, and Spain was only a little relieved to hear it was the Spanish Romano had been forced to speak.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Rovinare<em> - Italian for _to ruin_**

**Romano's not-Italian language of the end of this chapter refers to how, in southern parts of Italy, the language is different from the Italian spoken in the northern parts. Possibly derived from Spanish influence and possibly not, varying regions of Italy have different dialects that I played upon here.**

**I'm not sure how well this fic portrays what I'm thinking, but it will eventually get darker (if I write it right). I'm also not really sure why I write so much dark!Spain and chibi!Romano. *sigh***

**Spain is ridiculously out-of-character here, I know, and it will proceed to get worse and worse. I don't believe he went around molesting Romano as a child, but this is fanfiction, so I'm writing it anyway. XD Romano. . . I've just never been good at writing him.**

**I hope that you enjoyed this first part, at least.**


	2. Part II

**Warnings for (in this story in general) shota, masturbation, and noncon/dubcon. Do **_**not **_**read if you are uncomfortable with the subject. Kink meme deanon.**

* * *

><p><strong>affliction<strong>

The sheets were tangled in his legs, twisting around him and sticking to his skin. It was hot, uncomfortable, oppressive. He could barely breathe, it was so stifling; he wanted to make it stop.

How could Romano sleep so comfortably when Spain couldn't manage to keep his eyes closed for more than a couple seconds? Romano's breathing was even, calm. Most times, it had enough of a melody to act as a lullaby and help him through the night. This time, though, it didn't seem to be working.

(Was God punishing him? Surely the love he felt for Romano wasn't as _wrong_ as it was made out to be. Romano was his angel, his beautiful angel. Was it so wrong for Spain to love his little angel?)

He turned onto his side, tracing with his eyes the outline of his little lackey's body. Every curve was so clear and white in the moon's glow, and Spain licked his (dry, hungry, craving) lips. Romano's dark lashes fluttered, but his eyes remained closed, and his rose petal lips were slightly parted for air. A small moan escaped the boy, and Spain shivered in the heat.

Romano. Romano. Romano. Lovino. Lovino. _Lovino_.

Spain knew what he wanted. It was evident from the way his body had stiffened, from the way his cock had ever-so-slightly stirred through his pants. He was tempted, oh so very tempted, to take Romano then and there—and what fun it would be, to have that usual sex with Romano while he was sleeping and oblivious—but he craved something different from his normal behavior.

He wanted reciprocation, this time.

"Lovino?" His hand shot out before he had time to think his plan through, and he was shaking Romano's shoulder with the signature roughness that he was beginning to associate with his henchman. Spain gathered himself and sat on his knees near his lackey's sleeping figure, peering over Romano. "Lo_vi_no?"

It took all of two seconds for Romano to shoot up from the bed. "What the hell?" Romano demanded, shooting a fierce glare at Spain despite his half-awoken state. "Spain?"

Spain swallowed, squeezed his thighs together. "You look lovely tonight, Lovino. . ."

"Are you _mocking_ me?" He chucked a pillow at Spain's head, mouth set in a straight line. "Why'd you wake me up?" The windows let in enough moonlight so Spain could see everything.

The blankets were pooled at Romano's waist, but he could still see the outline of Romano's tiny penis. (And he both thanked and cursed God that Romano slept naked.) His gaze was centered there for a while, and he dragged his vision up, up, up, so it was settled on two cute candy nipples, perked up and demanding Spain to _touch_.

His breath caught—and, _God_, the room was sweltering—and his cock jerked when his vision honed in on Romano's cock again, imagining how it would fit in his mouth, how fun it would be to play, how Romano would cry out with wide eyes. . . Imagination wandering, he could imagine parting those lily white legs (only in this darkness was that the case, otherwise, Romano had tanned skin) and squeezing that ass and—

"Touch me, Lovino," Spain said, voice husky. (He felt as though he was damning himself more than he already had.) His fingers itched to yank aside the blanket and take Romano, unprepared, despite the blood and pain it would bring.

Romano sat up a little. "_What_?"

Spain grabbed Romano's hands—such soft, tiny hands—and pressed them to his chest. Romano's fingers were splayed out, his sweet baby skin clashing with Spain's tanned skin, and the heat radiating onto Spain's body from that touch was enough to make him go wild. "Here. Touch me."

Romano pulled his hands back with an immediate, "What the _hell_?"

"Lo_vino_," Spain pleaded, scrambling closer to his lackey. He wrapped his hand around Romano's again, squeezing it gently. He led it back to his heart, dragging it down his chest, pausing a little at the nipple and leaving Romano's hand there. "I need you."

Romano was confused more than anything, and it was apparent when his hesitant fingers trailed over Spain's torso to echo the earlier movements. Spain groaned.

"Do this for Boss, please?" he begged. _Oh_, how much he wanted Romano, then. He ran one of his hands through Romano's hair, the silken strands sliding out of his grasp so easily. "No one else is as good as you."

Romano perked up a little at that, though his hands (how dare they?) stopped moving. "Damn right I can do it best." He bit his lip and looked down in thought. Spain couldn't have that happen.

He reached for Romano's hands again, placing them on his body once more. "So you'll do this for Boss?" Spain asked, hope shining in his eyes.

"Why do you want me to touch you?" Romano's fingers tweaked Spain's nipple and circled around it. His other hand sort of just rested on Spain's abdomen. It felt _wonderful_. "It's weird."

Spain snarled—and it surprised him, because he never snarled before near Romano and it couldn't be healthy and what was Romano doing to him, dragging him to the depths of Hell in desperation (lust? love?) for a _child_—clenching his hand around Romano's arm and yanking him closer.

_Lovino_, _Lovino_, _how you ruin me_.

"I'm not sitting _on your lap_, dumbass!" Romano shrieked, flailing so his little penis was _innocuously_ (but not really) rubbing against Spain's skin.

Spain sighed but said nothing; Romano settled down. As expected.

Romano did, however, pull himself off Spain's lap to kneel on the bed. His and Spain's knees brushed against each other as Romano reached up to touch Spain's body. They were facing each other, so Spain could see everything he wanted.

Everything.

Romano's face was red, and he looked like he was concentrating hard. He bit his lip and ran his fingers down the center of Spain's chest, seemingly unaffected by Spain's gasps and slowed breathing. Spain's fingers tingled with the urge to grab the cock that seemed so intent on parading itself in front of him. He wanted to flip his henchman over and part those sweet little ass cheeks and shove his own cock straight into this writhing (crying, most likely, at that point) child.

Romano pinched the tips of Spain's nipples in curiosity more than anything, dragging his fingers over the sensitive skin before pulling back and considering what he was doing. Tilting his head, Romano started tracing his fingers over Spain's skin in a pattern, like he was drawing or writing.

(When Romano was older, perhaps, they would slide their tongues across each other's skin, tracing out words of love and declarations of affection.)

Spain let out a breathy moan, leaning toward Romano and pulling Romano's hands so they pressed harder against his skin. The heat shared between them burned through his blood, passion and ferocity showing their connection. "More."

Both of Romano's hands lay flat on Spain's chest, and he looked up at Spain. His hazel—but weren't they brown—eyes shone with pride, and he smiled a little. Romano's eyes were absolutely gorgeous.

"_More_."

Romano sat still for a moment before letting his hands drop to Spain's waist, and then to Spain's abdomen. His fingers were light, breezy at some points, but there were other moments where he would literally drag his palms across Spain's skin, teasing him.

With a growl, Spain pulled Romano's hands closer to the waistband of his pants. Romano's tiny fingers taunted him, unsure of whether or not to move. Spain was so very tempted to shove Romano's hands down there to rub and squeeze his cock. His warm hands would touch all the right places, pumping and brushing and—

"That good?" Romano asked, cutting into his thoughts.

Spain felt a lover's fondness and lusty desire battling for control of his body. The right thing for a Boss to do would be to coddle Romano and stop him there. The right thing for a Boss to do would be to kiss Romano's hair and tell him to sleep. The religious thing to do would be to leave Romano alone. Romano was a _boy_, a_ child._ Spain felt like he was betraying someone, but at the same time, when he was with Romano, everything felt right.

He gulped, saliva somehow going down his throat when his mouth was so dry. "More than good," he managed.

Romano beamed, and Spain's heart twisted.

The petite body in front of him was spread out for him to take take take. He was a Boss, a Conquistador, he had to _take_. Take his henchman and fuck him so hard he passed out. Take his henchman and run his hands (and mouth) over every inch of that _delectable_ body. Take his henchman and corrupt him. Spain was no longer innocent; Romano no longer needed to be. _Oh, Lovino, how I love you_.

"Like I said," Romano continued, "the _best_."

Spain narrowed his eyes, the predatory noise escaping his throat stopping Romano from talking. "Lovino. . ."

Moving so quickly Romano barely had time to react, Spain pounced, shoving his lackey so Romano was lying against the mattress again. He climbed on top of Romano—so his knees were on both sides of Romano's thighs, keeping him down but not hurting him (he could _never_ hurt this child)—towering over him, looking down on him. Spain's fingers dug into Romano's wrists, which were pressed near the child's head, and Romano squirmed, eyes wide.

"Bastard!" Romano kicked his legs and tried to pull out from under his Boss. His struggles made Spain chuckle a little. This was much more fun than his late night escapades. Much. More. Fun. "Get the hell off—"

Spain brought his mouth lower, to suck the sweet skin of Romano's baby chest. _Delicious_, he breathed in the smell. _Delicious_, he relished the taste. _Delicious_, he bit down, intending to mark the skin as his own. Romano gasped and tried harder to pull back.

"Spa-ain!" he whined, arching his back and crying out. Spain blew a gentle kiss against the nipple he'd just attacked. "What are you _doing_?"

"You did so well before," Spain explained, "I'm rewarding you, Lovino." Romano didn't look convinced, and Spain didn't want to have to _hurt_ him. "Let me show you how you made me feel, okay?"

Romano stared at the ceiling behind Spain's head. (Of course he believed Spain. Spain was his Boss, his protector. Spain had never _wronged_ him before—or so Romano thought—so Spain had no reason to hurt him now. Well. That was what Spain told himself.)

"Maybe. . . Another time. . ." Romano stared at him for a while, uneasy.

Another time? Did he get the option to choose when? He wanted Romano so badly, now, with the way Romano was tempting him so much more as of late. Spain considered this idea, for a moment, before nodding vigorously and releasing his hold on Romano's arms. Romano jumped away from him.

Spain sighed, a pout adorning his features when he noticed Romano's suspicious expression. With a quiet voice, he said (whether to comfort himself or Romano, he didn't know), "I would never hurt you. Never."

**reason**

"Are you sure I can't have him?" France smiled cordially, tapping his fingers against his thigh. Spain stared at the sky, listening to Romano's shouts and footsteps against the ground.

"He's mine, Francis," he said, stretching a grin across his lips. Underneath his tone was an easygoing threat, and he chuckled, allowing his eyes to trace every movement Romano made. He clenched his fists, and clumps of grass disconnected from the ground and gathered in his hands. "_Mine_."

He was the one who loved Romano. _He_ was the one who took care of him, who gave him everything. Romano was _his_.

"Weren't you so eager to trade him for Veneziano, not too long ago?" France didn't look at Spain; Spain didn't look at France.

"I didn't understand Lovino _before_." But Spain wondered whether he understood his henchman now or if he just pretended, lied. (Romano's skirt fluttered in the wind, his curl bobbing. A pretty scowl danced across Romano's face, and Spain licked his lips.) He would love to understand every part of Romano, and, in turn, have Romano understand everything about himself.

That was what love was.

"Why would you name him _Lovino_, then," France pouted, leaning back so he was supporting his weight on his hands, "if you were planning on keeping him for so long?"

Spain frowned, not saying anything, trying to think. What was there to say, besides?

"Why would South Italy want to remain a part of your Empire, in the future, if you would name him something so cruel now?"

**appearance**

"Tie this for me, dumbass," Romano demanded, tugging at the ribbon at the collar of his shirt.

Spain swallowed. When had Romano grown to be so big? Since when had Romano been tall enough, filled out enough, to wear Spain's shirts? Romano still looked like a child, had to have been under thirteen. "Sure. Come here." His fingers itched to brush Romano's skin.

Romano stomped over—parading himself in front of Spain like the gorgeous little devil child he was—and let out a breath, tapping at the base of his neck, where the fabric lay wide like an open door. Perfectly tanned skin lay available for Spain to view and touch and lick and suck, and _oh_, he almost did.

"Don't make it too tight."

Spain nodded, taking the thread in both hands and trying to calm his frantic heart. He wet his lips, his gaze switching back and forth from Romano's chest to Romano's eyes, unable to decide which he preferred looking at. "You don't have to wear Boss's clothes if you don't want to, Lovino."

"I _know_." Romano slapped Spain's hands away, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. The touch of their skin made Spain's breathing catch.

"So. . . Why are you wearing my clothes? They're certainly large on you."

Yes, they were large, but Spain _adored_ the way Romano looked. The thin fabric hung loose over Romano's hands, barely shielding his fingers (and delicious, supple skin) from view. The smallest movement Romano made would make the cloth ruffle around him (similar to how he'd looked so beautiful in the dress), and with those movements, Spain would try and catch the fabric clinging to the best places on Romano's body.

"Yeah, but. . ." Romano frowned. "I'm not gonna wear that fucking dress anymore. I look like I'm twelve now"—_ah_, Spain thought, _so that's how old Romano is supposed to be_—"and it's _weird_."

"I could have clothes made for you, if you want."

Romano centered his gaze on the floor, uncrossing his arms and twiddling with the bottom of his shirt. Then, he pouted his lip and scowled. "It's not that I want to wear _your_ clothes. It's just that you're poor and stupid, and I know this'll make things easier for you. . . Not that I _care_ if things are easy for you. Because I don't. You could die right now and it wouldn't even matter."

Spain patted his heart, oddly flattered by Romano's words. (And purposely ignoring the mean ones.) A light blush dusted his cheeks. "I'll remember that, Lovino."

"_Don't_!" Romano shrieked, stomping his foot. However old Romano claimed his body was decreased by a couple of years with that movement. "You're over thinking it!"

With a shrug and a smile, Spain dropped the subject. "Well, you look very nice." He watched as Romano's face transitioned from pink to red within seconds. _How cute_. He stood up, clapping his hands together and preparing for different matters, like with his boss and with other nations. At the threshold of the kitchen and hallway, he smirked and glanced back at Romano. "You look like me."

Romano stared at Spain for a moment, dumbfounded, before managing to collect himself. "I wasn't aiming for that, bastard! Don't say that kind of shit!"

**singular**

Spain knew he was glaring at the child, impatience growing in a way it never had when he was with Romano. "México!" His words were harsh, his voice strong and angry. He didn't know what México had done to warrant this type of anger, but he couldn't help it.

All he could see was red.

There was fear present all over México's face. The figure emerging from darkness to become presentable in Spain's eyes was not ugly, but Spain did not see the same beauty he saw in Romano. There were similarities between the two children, naturally, and yet all Spain could see were the differences. He was taking out his anger and hatred on this child in the New World, when it was unwarranted.

It wasn't fair, but everyone knew that Spain did not treat the nations in his Empire the same way. He fondled Romano, gave him love and kisses (and in turn, Romano had an unhealthy, unknown hold on Spain), while hurting the children in the New World.

The difference, Spain thought, was that he loved Romano, and Romano loved him. Their relationship was equal, while Spain's relationship with the New World countries was based on his domination. There was no equality between him and the New World countries. They did as he said, and that was that. With Romano, they were both willing to surrender to each other, to their love.

He couldn't remember a visit to the New World that didn't end with blood.

"Go away," Spain demanded, at last. He didn't know why he had called for México in the first place.

**orders**

"The brat never listens to me!" the man complained, wringing his hands in frustration. "Even when I say that the command comes from you, he rolls his eyes and yells and runs away! How do you get anything done around here?"

Spain wasn't sure if he was surprised. He knew Romano never listened to anyone, but as of late, Romano had been doing a _couple_ of the chores he was assigned by Spain. (He did them badly, sure, but he was still _trying_.)

Apparently, he had been wrong to believe that Romano would carry over that good behavior for another week.

"I'm sorry. I'll talk to him, alright?" Spain ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "You are dismissed." He watched the man leave before calling out for his henchman, ready to give him a stern—well, ready to _pretend_ to give him a stern—talking to.

After about a minute of Spain's calling and wandering, he found his Romano. And, oh, how _cute_ he looked wearing Spain's clothes. He was like a miniature Spain, a replica of the beautiful boy on Spain's mind all the time.

"What?" Romano snapped, popping his head in from the threshold. He walked so he was in front of Spain. "Oh. You're back." He didn't seem too excited, but at the same time, Spain couldn't read exactly what Romano's face was trying to suggest. Maybe he really _had_ missed Spain.

"Lovino." Spain crossed his arms, trying to seem tougher. He didn't want to show that all he wanted was to bend down and scoop Romano into his arms and hug the squirming child until the day was done. He missed Romano so much. "Why didn't you listen to the man I left in charge?"

Romano scowled. "He wanted me to do shit that you'd never ask me to do." It was a feeble lie, and both of them knew it.

"I asked him to ask you to just sweep and dust. You didn't do either, and I can tell." Spain placed a hand to his forehead, shaking his head. He loved Romano, but sometimes it would have been nice to come home to a clean house. "Why do you never listen to me, Lovino? Why can't you just do what I say for once?"

Romano kicked at the ground with a pout. "_You _didn't give me the directions, that bastard did. Why should I listen to him, when I'm not part of _his_ Empire?" Romano said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it _obviously_ wasn't.

Spain stared at him for a long time. Did that mean Romano would do what Spain told him to because he was Romano's _Boss_? Was he finally going to act like his brother and do what he was told? He decided to test this theory. "Go dust the library."

After a couple of seconds, Romano stomped off, tossing a glare back at Spain. "Dumbass. I'm not doing it for _you_, I'm doing it for the other bastard!"

"That's not nice, Lovino!" Spain called after him, but inside, he was ecstatic.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm sorry if I didn't reply to your **_**amazing**_** reviews. *feels so loved* I'm pretty sure we all know how crazy FFNet's been lately, and by the time I could get to a computer when the site was working fine, it was going to be so late and therefore weird for you to get replies. =P In any case, thank you so, so much for sharing your opinions about this fic. I kinda liked this chapter, so lemme know what you think? XD**

**I hope you enjoyed this part! ^^**


	3. Part III

**Warnings for (in this chapter and later chapters) shota and noncon/dubcon. Do **_**not **_**read if you are uncomfortable with the subject. Kink meme deanon.**

* * *

><p><strong>interpretation<strong>

The little body beside Spain curled toward him with a soft—yes, it was completely uncharacteristic of his usual rough behavior—and vulnerable sigh. Spain's left arm was wrapped around him in a comforting grasp, and the boy's fingers were clenched together in a tight fist.

(No, the boy was not really Romano anymore. He was Lovino. Lovino Vargas, because of all he ruined.)

Spain smiled and used his free hand to move Romano's dark hair aside. Asleep, Romano was reminiscent of his younger brother, the boy whom Spain originally would have preferred to care for. They had the same features: brown hair, pink cheeks, bodies round with baby fat.

Both brothers were simply adorable, but Spain would no longer deny—and he hated to think that he hadn't before appreciated Romano, as he did now—that the one he had possession of was cuter. Lovino, Lovino, _Lovino_. He was so much cuter.

Spain licked his lips as his fingers brushed against the long curl characteristic to both of the Italian brothers. Romano let out a weak whine, tightening his hold on the bed sheets in a manner Spain found he enjoyed quite a lot.

He was cute, he was innocent, he was naïve, and he was willing to give anything to his caretaker. That was what Spain wanted, and he would take advantage of the brief moments where Romano would do just that.

Because, after all, Spain was the Boss. The Boss could take what he wanted, deserved what he got. And God had blessed (cursed) him with Romano, so Spain intended to use, love, take Romano until the end.

Romano was a heavy sleeper, Spain knew, just as he knew that tugging on the strand of hair longer than the others would lead to Romano's submission.

Because of experience, Spain knew to take his chances with the boy's body while he played with the strange hair curl. Spain didn't know the importance of this lone strand of hair, but he made sure to take advantage of it, as it was his duty as a caretaker and conqueror (and Boss) to use everything he was given.

He knew that even as Romano squealed and flailed his limbs, he wouldn't wake up. He knew that while Romano writhed, he could peel back the blankets that lead to the child.

Spain knew all this because it wasn't the first time.

Skin flushed and covered in sweat tempted Spain to no end. His mouth curved up into a dark smile when he remembered that Romano would be cute and obedient—the way Romano was supposed to be, to please his Boss.

But then, it was a lie for him to say that he didn't like Romano, for a part of him knew that he wouldn't be able to achieve such nightly rituals with Chibitalia or México or any of the others. He was their Boss, their protector, their Big Brother.

Being with Romano made everything much more different. His cute little Romano was his favorite, always the favorite.

While Romano was most definitely a spoiled brat, there were occasional moments where it seemed he truly loved Spain. Those moments were so few, even fewer now that he was assigned the name _Lovino_, Spain found himself trying to force them (_Touch me, Lovino. Touch me._) to occur. It was something he deserved, was it not? A gift meant for the man who did so much for such a tiny child?

And wasn't that what Romano was supposed to do, take care of and do work for Spain? It proved love, didn't it?

Spain's lips made contact with skin white in the moonlight and unblemished by adulthood and wars and economy (and chores; perhaps that was why Spain didn't enforce his rules well enough). He kissed Romano's chest, flicking his tongue over small, caramel nipples, leaving a light trail of saliva down, down, down. His fingers curled in Romano's hair, sure to tug at the curl that kept him subdued. Pulling at Romano's hair had his cute little mouth part slightly, an invitation, and Spain pressed their lips together.

Supple, delicious lips and a small tongue met the demand, and Romano unconsciously leaned in closer toward Spain, whining through the kiss and turning Spain on. Romano's moans always did that to him.

He could feel his cock twitching and starting to strain against the material of his pants, and he truly _needed_ Romano at that precise moment. Because, God help him, the child was _finally _behaving properly, lying there exposed and openand willing. Romano was splayed across the bed, a piece of Italian art none could ever correctly imitate, laying there and just askingto be taken. A proper little henchman, doing exactly what his Boss said.

(It had been Romano's idea to come into his Boss's room and sleep in the nude, after all, showing off _everything_ and practically _begging_ for Spain to do something about it. _Begging_, with that cute little face of his. _Begging_, with his tiny cock and tiny nipples and tiny mouth. _Begging_, with his unconscious whimpers.)

And the pleasure derived from the game and from the child himself seemed to overshadow any possible guilt. It was something owed to him, for taking care of the boy, for protecting him, for being his _Boss_.

He pressed a small kiss to Romano's mouth again (_mmm_), ignoring the innocent, _childlike_ sigh, and took Romano's hands in his own. Soft, white, baby hands were in his larger, tanner, rougher hands—the comparison, for a moment, made him frown.

Spain pushed those thoughts aside and proceeded to take his protectorate. He was Romano's Boss, his Big Brother, so to speak. It only made sense that they could be together this way, that Romano would do something like this for him. Spain loved him, after all. (And Romano loved him back, right? Right?)

He wondered how Romano never stirred through it all, for all the moans that escaped his lips. He wondered how he'd hide his glee when Romano complained of being sore in the morning. He wondered, most of all, if he was such a horrible person, to do this.

He forced his thoughts aside.

It was all Romano's fault, for being the beautiful tempter that he was, for demanding and giving love that Spain reciprocated.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, he dipped his fingers into the small container of body oils perched _innocently_ on the nightstand. He pulled Romano's small legs apart, wrapping them around his body as much as they would go (which wasn't much, really, because Romano was just a child, just a little boy), and slid his fingers—one, two, three, only not that fast, and with his other hand making work of that odd strand of hair, twisting and twirling and tugging, so as to distract the unsuspecting, oblivious Romano—into the boy, stretching him.

Wet heat burned his fingers, and the muscles clenched around them so nicely. He closed his eyes and lost himself, for a moment, then he pulled his fingers out to rub some lubricant onto himself. The oil was cool against his cock, and he shivered, eagerness for Romano growing with every rub and brush and slide of his fingers across his shaft.

He positioned himself, heart pattering as it always did before the actual penetration, and aligned the tip of his cock to Romano's sweet little hole.

It was a tiny movement, but it felt good nonetheless. Everything about their nights together felt wonderful; it was just Spain and Romano during these times, and what could be better?

Romano's back arched and his fists clenched and he whimpered; Spain bit back a growl and continued. Pushed in, pulled back a bit. Back and forth, in and out, faster and faster, until he had a steady pace set.

Romano's cries almost seemed to coincide with the times he would clench tighter around Spain's cock. It felt amazing, the tightness surrounding him. It was the hot, tight squeezing, his henchman's loud cries, and the beauty of the body below him that helped him come.

Because Romano was so small, Spain had, at first, wondered if it was possible for him to do this. He'd been worried through the whole process, worried Romano would wake up, worried Romano couldn't take it, worried Romano wouldn't meet his expectations. . . But the night had gone smoothly and set a precedent for futures Romano would remain unaware of.

Release came quickly for him, but it had come more quickly for Romano—who had unknowingly cried out and writhed in waves of pleasure, as per usual—as he leaned closer toward Spain and came onto the sheets, sullying them, staining them.

It was a delicious sight and had been what gave Spain the final push. He spilled into Romano's body, his essence overtaking the little Italian until Romano just lay there, breathing hard, still unaware. A line of saliva leaked from the corner of Romano's parted mouth, and Spain leaned forward and kissed Romano again.

The evidence of Spain's orgasm leaked from Romano's entrance and onto the sheets, his ass unable to hold in everything. White on white on white.

Beautiful.

Then Spain just sat still, calmly, taking in everything. Romano was pink-faced and breathing hard, his tiny cock limp and his beautiful little nipples coated in Spain's kisses and saliva. His lips were red and swollen. Only a little had made it onto his stomach this time; usually Romano would come all over Spain and himself instead of on just the sheets.

With a sigh, exhaustion began to overcome him, and he pulled away from his little henchman to lie near him. Their breathing matched each other's, like a quiet song, and Spain contented himself by just listening to Romano. His hands itched to touch more of his little lackey, but he refrained. There was always tomorrow evening, and plenty of nights after that. Forever, until Romano was ready to reciprocate.

He exhaled, a sign of relief, and slid his fingers into Romano's pretty brown hair, stroking gently, comfortingly. Like an older brother, or Boss, was supposed to do.

**distance**

"Lovino," Spain murmured, his fingers dancing across Romano's skin. How he wanted to hold this boy in his arms, press Romano's lips to his own again. (How pleased God would be.) "Lovino. . ."

"Sp-_ain_." Romano swatted at Spain's hand, burying his face deeper into his pillow. Spain wanted to be that pillow, to be able to hold and touch and feel Romano without being forced away. "Leave me alone."

"Could you do something for Boss?"

Romano didn't say anything for a while, and then he yawned and mumbled, "Depends. . ."

"Could you call me Antonio, instead of Spain?" He closed his eyes and let out a breath. His fingers didn't stop moving on Romano's skin, despite the fact that Romano had tried to impede his ministrations. Spain loved the feeling of _Romano_ in his hands. Romano was beautiful, wonderful, special, _his_.

"Why?" Romano's voice was still sleep-muddled, heavy.

"I call you Lovino all the time now," he frowned, remembering that France had said naming Romano _Lovino_ was cruel (and perhaps it was, though Spain wouldn't know, as Romano never told him anything and had stopped complaining about the name a year after its implementation), "and I would love it if you called me Antonio, as well."

Names symbolized the relationship they held. With Spain calling Romano 'Lovino,' he was showing that Romano was _his_, that he and Romano would love each other and be together until the end. If Romano began calling him 'Antonio,' it would signify the shift.

Romano would still be under Spain's care, yes, but it was a step closer to showing that Romano was growing up, a step closer to showing that Romano was becoming someone closer to Spain's equal. Romano would be showing that he and Spain were close simply by calling Spain 'Antonio.'

Spain wanted, _needed_, this. He and Romano were close, they deserved to have this material proof of their bond, this material proof of the love between them.

But, perhaps, Romano did not see it that way.

"Whatever."

**euphoria**

"Would you kiss me, Lovino, if I asked you to?"

Romano stared at him, surprised with the shift in conversation topic. Perhaps he was thinking of the time when Spain had asked him for something similar, and he didn't say anything for a while. "Aren't kisses for lovers?"

With a chuckle, Spain agreed. "And I love you, my little Lovino. I love you more than you know." (He loved Romano with more _passion_ than he thought possible for himself to have. He loved Romano more than God could have ever considered a man loving another. That was what made everything right.)

"That's not like how people in love like each other," Romano insisted, rolling his eyes. "You're my Boss."

But wasn't it that, as a Boss, Spain was supposed to get everything he wanted? Wasn't it that, as a Boss, Romano unconditionally loved him in the same way? Their relationship was more loving because of their current dynamic. Spain as Boss and Romano as henchman left a _lot_ of love between them.

"My Boss," Romano repeated, stinging Spain's heart just a little.

Spain's expression fell a little, and he pondered about the best way to continue this discussion in the right direction—the direction he _wanted_ it to go, where he would get a sweet taste of Romano's lips. "You're young, so you don't know the truth about kissing."

"I do _so_!" Romano glared at Spain before saying, defensively, "My _brother_ said that bastard Holy Roman Empire kissed him, and it was romantic and shit, because they _love_ each other. So that means if I kiss you, I love you, and I fucking _don't_."

Spain told himself that Romano was lying.

"Kissing is how you show you care about someone." Spain patted Romano's head in longing that Romano didn't yet understand. His heart hurt from hearing Romano's words. "If you kiss me, it means you like living here. Did you ever kiss your grandfather, or Austria?"

Romano frowned, silent for a long time with reasons Spain would never know. His lower lip trembled. "Does that mean Veneziano kisses Austria?" Spain nodded. "He never told me that, dammit!"

"You're supposed to just understand what kissing means. I guess your brother assumed you already knew." Spain said it nonchalantly, and he could see the emotions flittering across Romano's face as he tried to make sense of it all. The emotions were unreadable, and Spain wished, as he'd been wishing for so long, that he had the ability to interpret Romano's thoughts.

"So I'm _supposed_ to kiss you? But I thought—"

"Naïve little Lovi, don't think too much into it. A kiss just means we like living together. I've kissed my New World countries before." _No, _he hadn't.

Romano thought about it, sitting up in the bed. "You've kissed Belgium, too? And the Netherlands?" Spain nodded, scooting closer to his lackey. His hand rested on top of Romano's, and their fingers intertwined, slow and unsure. His heart leapt. "And it means you like living with me?"

"Why would I lie?" Spain watched Romano twiddle his fingers, and he grinned. It was working, he was closer to having his Romano love him properly. "So will you kiss me, Lovino?" And, _oh_, how Spain was eager for that kiss.

Romano opened his mouth to respond, and Spain took it as an opportunity. He pressed his lips to Romano's, his whole body stiffening and then relaxing. The sweet taste overflowed his senses and sent shivers down his spine. His arms wanted to wrap around Romano's waist and hold the boy so close. His lips wanted to trace every part of Romano, to show him just how much love he felt. His heart told him to do it; his mind told him to stop.

"Antonio. . ." Romano breathed; Spain shifted his legs a little, squeezing his thighs together. Romano certainly knew how to play around with Spain's emotions. "It's wet, dammit," he said finally, failing to strengthen the sound of his voice.

Spain wrapped his arms around his lackey, pulling him closer and pressing their lips against each other in a bruising manner. He heard Romano whine, and he hugged Romano closer.

It felt so much better, so much more alive, when Romano was awake. He bit at Romano's lower lip, running his tongue over it and allowing Romano enough time to reach upward and moan. Their teeth banged together a little, but Spain didn't mind at all. The whole process was adorable, special, his own.

He decided he'd spent too much time waiting. Spain coaxed his tongue into Romano's mouth. Romano squeaked indignantly, trying to pull back, but Spain help him close enough, tightly enough, to prevent it. Spain found Romano's tongue (he was trying so hard to pull it back, but a mouth was only so big) and rubbed against it.

The odd squeak from the back of Romano's throat made Spain smile through their kiss, and he pressed harder, nibbling at Romano's lips before shoving his tongue back to Romano's. He licked Romano's lips before trailing kisses down his neck.

His hands roamed over every inch of Romano's body—except for that tiny cock, which he was purposefully ignoring until the right moment—finding every movement Romano made was so much better now that he was _awake_.

(_Want. Want. Want_.)

He tweaked at Romano's nipples, loving the way they hardened at his touch. Romano panted when Spain twisted the left one, and Spain grinned in delirium. His cock ached now, straining and standing and demanding Romano's body. Oh, it was _definitely_ better when Romano was aware of everything.

**misunderstanding**

He forced his lips away from Romano, a strand of saliva snapping as he pulled back so he was kneeling again and Romano was in front of him. Romano made a face.

"M-maybe we should stop." Romano looked uncomfortable, his face an obvious red despite the darkness of the room. How cute. "My. . ."—Spain looked at him expectantly—"my. . ."

Spain pouted. "You don't like what we're doing?"

"It doesn't feel right, dammit! I thought kissing was supposed to be simple!" Quietly, so Spain strained to hear him, Romano mumbled, "A-and, it's making me act weird, and I don't think—"

"You don't like it?" Spain repeated, not quite perceptive.

"I don't even know what we're doing, asshole!" Romano snapped, sitting up. Spain ignored Romano's glare to center his gaze on Romano's (very hard) penis. It was so _cute_. "Stop looking at that! It's just being weird 'cuz it's next to your stupidity." When Spain couldn't drag his eyes away, Romano complained again. "Stop it, bastard! _Stop_!"

Spain ran his thumb over the head of Romano's cock, precome smearing at his touch. Heat radiated to his palm from that action alone, and he felt Romano lean toward him despite his vocalized complaints.

"This is normal, you know." Spain's voice was much huskier than he thought it would be, and it didn't seem like Romano understood. "It means you want me."

"What the _hell_?" Romano exclaimed, jumping away from Spain. His green eyes narrowed. "I kissed you; you won't kick me out." Spain wanted to argue that Romano's reasoning _hadn't_ been why they'd kissed, but he held back. He didn't want to scare off his henchman too much. "I'm going back to my room."

He wanted to argue, to wrap his arms around Romano's little body and hold him forever, never let him go. Romano glared at him; Spain let Romano leave.

Love was about sacrifice and sacrifice proved love. He and Romano loved each other, and that was that.

**taste**

"What are you doing?" Spain stopped walking to stare at Romano.

"What does it look like, dumbass?" Romano took another bite of his tomato, juice spilling onto his hand and dribbling down his cheeks. "Eating," he mumbled. His mouth was full, cute little cheeks puffed out.

Spain watched Romano's messy eating—the fruit was a mess of mashed-up red, seeds and juices leaking onto Romano's shirt, causing sticky stains that Spain was no longer responsible for—for a long time. Finally, he grinned, unusual pride in his voice though the food was not an original Spanish product. "You don't hate them anymore?"

"You like them," Romano said, and it was supposed to be answer enough.

Spain's smile grew wider, and he wrapped his arms around his little (except Romano was older now, just thankfully not old enough) lackey. "We can eat tomatoes together now!" He could easily picture him and Romano lying outside in the fields, laughing and hugging and eating. "Why the change of heart? You hated them not too long ago."

Romano stood up, smacking his feet against the floor and losing Spain's hold on him. "Can't you ever be happy, bastard?" At Spain's persistent smiling, Romano rolled his eyes. "I like them because you like them."

"That doesn't make sense," Spain laughed.

"It does _so_!" He wiped his hands on his pants, glaring at his Boss. "You're stupid."

He'd been told he was stupid enough times for the supposed insult to be rendered meaningless. It did not matter, anyway, as he knew the truth of his relationship with Romano. He knew that he and Romano loved each other, and that they would always be together. He knew that Romano couldn't _possibly _mean those insults, as they had been together enough times to show that they both were truly lovers.

"Do you want me to make you something with tomatoes in it?" Excitement tinged his voice, sweeping through his body and helping his cheeks flush a light pink. Romano was the only person he'd ever known who could make him so happy. "We can share."

Romano stared at him for a while, and the rejection started and died on his lips. Spain wanted to kiss that wide and beautiful mouth, but he refrained. "Yeah. Let's share." Romano's voice was slow, not all that eager but eager enough.

Spain beamed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you so much for your reviews last chapter! You're all so amazing! I loved reading your thoughts (and replying to them, as well; I'm such a rambler =P).**

**Umm, so with this chapter, I hope it shows that the fic is taking a turn for a darker route. The next chapter will include a noncon scene (my first smut-writing experience ever, so be warned XD), and there should only be a couple more chapters after that. I don't know if this is going to have a happy ending, but it most likely will not.**

**I know the setting (Spain's bed) rarely ever changes, and most of this is just Spain's thoughts in a ridiculously repetitive manner, but I'm still hoping you like it anyway? XD **

**So. . . I hope that you enjoyed reading this chapter and that you're enjoying the story so far. ****Happy Spring Break (if you're on your spring vacation, that is)! ^^**


	4. Part IV

**Warnings in this chapter are for language and noncon shota. Deanon from the kinkmeme.**

* * *

><p><strong>lie<strong>

It was war. Again.

Spain's boots were shined—he did it himself as Romano had neither the skill nor the motivation to do such a simple task—his coat was new, and his weapons were ready.

"Where're you going?"

The signature 'bastard' wasn't at the end of Romano's sentence. Maybe it was because Spain was wearing a war uniform. Maybe it was because Romano just awoken from a nap. All Spain knew was that in war, he didn't return every night. Romano would be alone for a while. He'd meant to send for someone to stay with and watch (protect) Romano, but it had slipped Spain's mind when he'd been preparing for something much bigger.

Spain smiled easily, patting his piece of Italy on the head. Romano wouldn't have appreciated a babysitter anyway. "Just a small meeting. I'll be back soon."

"Bastard!" Romano glared at him, clearly not pleased with the answer. Spain's hand rested on Romano's hair. Was it just him, or was the shade much darker than he remembered it? How odd. "Like hell that's true. Tell me what's really happening. I'm not stupid."

"It's nothing to worry about, Lovino. I'm just getting a new boss." And there was the issue of what would happen when he got his new boss. There was that possibility he would be unified with France. . .

He shuddered; Romano scowled. "You're wearing your war uniform, stupid. Come up with a better excuse."

Spain's fingers twisted around a strand of hair that was sticking out. _The_ strand of hair. The one he used every night. He wouldn't be able to use it that often in the coming nights; he'd be fighting. (What a shame, his heart lamented.) "You're too young to understand." He smiled again, hoping it was enough to appease Romano.

Romano's face burned as he pulled himself from Spain's grasp and shoved him—with his head, but that was a little detail Spain didn't like to think about because it hurt a lot more than it would have if Romano had just used his hands—away.

"Fine. _Don't_ tell me." Romano stormed off, face bright red. He hadn't aged much, and, still not a teenager, acted very much like a child. (Gorgeous. Simply gorgeous.)

Spain watched Romano stomp—but not without that slight limp none but Spain could detail after a particularly rough night—toward the storage rooms. Maybe Romano felt like reminiscing. He smiled softly and started toward the back door. Henchman these days. . .

**redemption**

Romano was sleeping soundly when Spain crawled on top of him.

Tonight was _the_ night. Romano had promised him that this could happen, and it was one of the last days for anything, possibly his final chance alone with his growing lackey.

His fingers ran a gentle trail down Romano's chest, tracing a light pattern to try and relax his henchman. If Romano wasn't relaxed, the whole night would be wrong. Romano wanted it _too_. Romano had to enjoy it. It would be the first time he would be awake throughout, the first time that they, together, could make love and become one.

He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Romano's forehead, then another to his nose, and another to his lips.

Romano's eyes shot open. "What the _hell_ are you _doing_?" Romano thrashed his arms and legs, kicking hard and aiming for Spain's chest. "I was fucking _sleeping_!" Spain took the hits in stride, much too used to the pain at this time. His body still ached from the war, but he would still take Romano's hits, as long as it brought him to his ultimate goal.

Spain tilted his head in complete innocence, on all fours over Romano's flailing body. (Animalistic, a predator.) Using his knees and left hand to support himself, he ran his right hand through Lovino's hair, breathing in the scent that was his little boy. He didn't want to say anything and ruin the moment, not when there was the looming possibility he was going to lose this beauty in front of him forever.

"Antonio! Fuck off!"

Just once, he would love for Romano to be awake as they had sex together. He would love for Romano to smile at him, like in his fantasies. He would love for it to be just him and Romano, making sweet love in this bed where they'd made memories before.

"Move your stupid ass _now_!"

Long fingers wound around the wrists of one not yet in a teen's body (How old was Romano? Eleven? Twelve? How old was he _really_?), squeezing so as to not bruise but still have a decent enough hold. Spain held Romano down as he thrashed and spewed curses, unrelenting.

He brought his lips down to Romano's delicious ones.

"Mmph!" Spain slid his tongue—though Romano was determined to keep his lips pursed tight, so the process was not as easy as it seemed—into Romano's mouth, the sugary, child-like taste overflowing his senses and stirring heat through Spain's body, as always.

He almost expected Romano to bite him, but Romano's little tongue poked at his own (perhaps he remembered how to kiss Spain, from earlier) before pulling back. _Mmm_, how Spain found thrill in that taste. . . Spain groaned, his grip on Romano's wrists tightening. Hands immobilized and pinned down, Romano could only flail.

Spain pressed kisses to Romano's nipples—left then right, then back again, flicking his tongue over the tips and then blowing so the cool temperature would harden them—biting at the skin (so soft and sweet and innocent) as Romano struggled and then arched upward into the heat of his mouth. Through his shirt, Spain could feel the naked, boyish curves of Romano's body pressing against his own.

"Argh!" Romano whined as Spain bit at his neck. Spain swirled his tongue across the small droplets of blood. "Anto_nio_! That fucking _hurts_!"

Spain licked his lips, the slightest trace of Romano's slightly sweaty skin (and the iron of his blood) lingering in his mouth. Swallowing, he relished in the taste he wanted back, the taste he wanted to forever keep with him, the taste he so coveted. "Hmm?"

Romano's gaze was centered on Spain's lips, and his voice shook just a little. "Stop touching me there!"

Spain smiled, licking a trail up Romano's chest—from his navel, up, up, _up_, the tanginess of sweat on skin reaching his tongue—and stopping again at a caramel nipple. "Here?" He released his hold on Romano's arm to twist at Romano's right nipple, hard. Romano whimpered. "You don't like it?"

"No!" Romano shook his head, eyes wide. Spain could only see innocence, but he knew from Romano's tone that there was more than just innocence present. "I-it feels weird, dammit! A-and you should stop—"

"What if I touch you here?" He let go of Romano's wrists and grabbed Romano's shuddering thighs before there was even a chance to scramble away. Wrenching them apart—as Romano spewed countless curses and threw numerous kicks and punches—he eyed Romano's penis with unsurprising, obvious eagerness.

He'd seen it so many times prior (even the night before, during his usual night routine), but he would never stop being amazed at how much he enjoyed this part of Romano's anatomy. There wasn't any pubic hair yet, and, _oh_, it was too small and cute for Spain to ignore.

Spain _loved_ Romano's cock. (And, one day, it had the potential to be large and more delicious than it was now. He was looking forward to that day in the future.)

"No! Not _there_!" Romano shrieked, thrashing his legs in a desperate attempt to pull out of Spain's hold. Spain's grasp tightened, and he wet his lips. Romano's foot smashed against his stomach, and Spain took in a large breath, trying not to get angry despite the blossoming ache. It _hurt_. "Don't look!"

Romano moved to cover himself, but Spain didn't want that. Of course he didn't. He pulled Romano's thighs farther away from each other (ignoring Romano's childish wail), wrapping them around his waist and throwing Romano off balance so the lower half of his body was elevated, propped on Spain's lap.

The feeling of Romano's thighs around him was a_maz_ing, and his thoughts tumbled back to old ideas of fucking Romano, ideas he'd never quite been able to accomplish. Perhaps tonight really was _the night_. Spain's cock jerked in agreement, and Spain could see Romano's bewildered, frenzied glances at him. Perhaps he was wondering why Spain's cock was standing through the material of his pants.

"You're so _cute_, Lovino!" he murmured in explanation. "This is happening because of _you_!"

He brushed his thumb over the slit of Romano's cock, precome smearing over the head—it was always remarkable how quickly Romano would orgasm and how quickly Spain could come after him—and Romano trembled before pulling himself out of his daze.

"I'm not!" he insisted. "And stop fucking _touching_ and _looking_ at it! Let me go back to sleep, bastard!"

Spain released Romano's left thigh and ran his thumb up and down the small shaft of that beautiful cock. Romano shivered, mouth parted just a little as a ragged breath escaped his lips. His eyes were half-lidded, and his body unconsciously leaned toward Spain, his hardened nipples demanding for Spain to twist them. Spain's cock throbbed another time.

"You seem to like it."

Romano shook his head again, with more vigor this time. He pulled himself from the daze he wasn't aware he was in. "No!" He tried pulling himself away from Spain, trying to crawl backward. "Dammit, I already kissed you before. I-I don't like—"

"But this is how all henchmen show their appreciation for their Boss. And you _promised_, Lovi." Spain smiled condescendingly.

"I _don't_ appreciate you, bastard! If you're so fucking desperate, I'll show you in some other way tomorrow." Romano rolled his eyes, trying to seem stronger despite the fact that he was so very weak to Spain's touch.

"What if I did something different?" Spain asked, tapping his chin in mock thought. He glanced at Romano's cock, tiny and twitching and obviously hard despite the little attention that had been given to it.

(He shoved back the idea of Romano jerking himself off. Romano was still too young for that, no matter how much Spain would love to see it. "Like this, Boss Antonio?" Romano would ask, twisting one of his nipples and sliding his other hand over his little cock. Romano would throw his head back with a breathy moan, and Spain would groan in agreement, "Yes, Lovino, just like _that_. . .")

His fingers, slightly cold, wrapped around the base of Romano's penis and stroked it in a mix of gentle and rough actions. He wanted to wrap his mouth around it, pressing kisses to every part of Romano's body, but he couldn't. He'd have to wait.

"What if, you help me with mine?" Spain asked. He was enjoying himself, the way Romano oh-so-innocently blurted out his thoughts, the way Romano didn't understand why his body was betraying him. Romano's breaths were shaky, his fingers clenching the sheets.

Without giving Romano time to think about what he'd implied, Spain wrapped his hand around one of Romano's ankles (to keep him from scampering away like the helpless, wonderful, beautiful little creature he was). With his other hand, he unclasped his pants.

The rush of cool air that immediately surrounded his throbbing cock felt so _amazing_. Romano's eyes widened.

He could hear Romano's furious breaths, smell the bitter smells of precome and sweat mingling in the air, taste Romano's lips and skin. _Mmm. . ._

He was sharing this special moment with his beautiful henchman, his beautiful Romano. It was _proof_ that he and Romano were meant to be with each other, forever. _Proof_ that he and Romano loved each other and always would. _Proof_ that he and Romano—

Spain snapped his eyes open again when he felt Romano trying to pull away again. (The foot that pulled from his grasp and collided with his chest _hurt_.) That couldn't happen, not when he was so needy for his little lackey.

Licking his lips again, his voice became husky, breathy, frightening, for the child who rarely heard it. "Do you like it, Lovi?" Romano was unable to move from staring at Spain. "It's going inside you."

"You're lying, right? We're stopping now, because I say so." Romano laughed in disbelief and unease, gaze never leaving Spain's cock. "It's kind of. . . big. . . And I've never. . . heard of _do_ing that before. . ."

"Why should we stop?" Spain smiled as he stroked himself.

Silly, silly Romano, always denying things he wanted and rejecting what he craved. Silly, silly Romano, pretending that he didn't want to do this even though he so obviously did. Silly, silly Romano, a child yet not, loving every minute of the attention but claiming that he didn't fully understand.

Romano's expression fell and his little tongue darted out to lick his lips. "B-but. . . _Where_?"

Tapping Romano's ass with his left hand—and Romano's eyes were wide and worried and he was shaking his head so, so quickly—Spain shoved his right index finger in Romano's mouth. He yanked it out when he worried Romano would bite him, and, as a result, only a little saliva coated his finger after. It certainly was not enough to start their sex, and he shifted around a bit so he could touch Romano's cute little hole.

"Here, obviously." He ran his dampened finger around the ring of muscle before probing the hole with only a slight amount of gentleness.

Romano's legs moved furiously again, and his arms worked to try and propel himself backward and out of Spain's grasp. "Fuck no! I didn't promise _shit_! Bosses don't—"

"Yes, you _did_." Gritting his teeth, Spain tried to ignore the hits of the flailing child and moved to fondle Romano's ass cheeks. He toyed with the opening, quite liking the heat he could feel and the obvious twitching of it. He shoved his finger in until even his knuckle was twisting in that heat.

"Ngh!" Romano squirmed at the intrusion, never having been awake when Spain had done it before. Spain had been rough with him the previous night, so Spain suspected there were trace amounts of pain still lingering behind that Romano didn't understand, pain worsened with his wiggling finger. "Ah-ah-ahn! Out!"

But, regardless of what Romano was feeling, it felt nice for Spain. The heat of Romano's ass always felt good, and around his finger, the muscles clenched tighter and tighter. He wanted to slide in another finger. . .

"G-get it out, you stupid bastard! Get i-it _out_!" Romano arched his back, breathing hard. His voice was whiny, little, scared. Spain savored these emotions, as he so rarely saw them. "Pull it _out_, dammit! It f-fucking _hurts_!"

He wiggled his finger again, searching for Romano's prostate early so Romano would stop protesting. They both wanted this. They both needed this. It was all about them.

"Fuh-_ohh_!" Romano squirmed under Spain's care, twisting and writhing as a loud, sensual moan escaped his lips and headed straight for Spain's cock. Spain rubbed his own penis gently, closing his eyes and relishing in the sweet whine that escaped Romano's lips.

"You like that, right, Lovino?" Spain grinned, and Romano's half-lidded eyes snapped open.

Romano tried kicking at Spain again, beating his arms at whatever he could grab hold of. Spain pulled his finger out with an odd popping noise, grinning in delirium. Romano's body relaxed, though his fists grasped the bed sheets until his hands and knuckles turned white.

Spain shifted, an odd look overcoming his face, and he slid back a little; the way Romano's body was shaking uncontrollably made Spain's cock ache, and he wasn't sure why he was being so sadistic.

"What the fuck was that for?" Romano gasped, anger and hurt lacing his voice.

Spain blinked, running his thumb over Romano's cheek. "Does it make you feel good, Lovino? I'm going to make you feel so _gooood_."

Romano sat up a little, scooting backward. "You've done this before and _liked_ it?" His voice was octaves higher than it usually was. "B-but. . . It _hurts_! And its weird and I thought—"

"It hurts less if you suck more," Spain said off-handedly.

"_What_? That's _it_, Antonio!" Spain had his fingers in front of Romano's mouth again, expectant. They brushed against Romano's swollen lower lip, trying to part his mouth and gain entrance. "No! Your hand was just in my _ass_, stupid! And—_mmph_!"

The heat of Romano's mouth was different from that of his ass, but Spain liked them both in uniquely different ways. "Get saliva all over, Lovino, or this'll hurt unnecessarily," he instructed.

Romano stared at him for a moment—and how beautiful he looked with his mouth open wide, and how Spain wanted his cock to be in Romano's mouth instead of his fingers—before biting him. Hard. It wasn't enough to draw blood, but it stung almost as much as the hits to his abdomen did.

"That wasn't nice, Lovi." Spain shoved his fingers farther into Romano's mouth. Romano grabbed at Spain's wrist, trying and failing to pull the hand out of his mouth with his limited strength. An odd gargling sound escaped the back of his throat, and his eyes were horrified. "Suck."

The disfigured word that left Romano's mouth in a pleading manner was most likely supposed to be "please."

Romano's tongue was hesitant, then, tracing over the tips of his fingers with obvious discomfort. Spain moved his fingers deeper into Romano's hot mouth. Choking, Romano began moving his tongue around Spain's fingers much faster. His mouth was only so big, though, and he wasn't getting enough of Spain's skin coated with his spit.

It wasn't nearly fast enough for Spain's liking.

Romano's teeth scratched Spain's fingers more than once, but it felt good, so Spain allowed it. (He'd always allowed Romano to do whatever he wanted before; this was just an extension.) Spain liked the way Romano's cheeks looked, tinged pink with a cute blush, and hollowed as he sucked and licked.

He adored the noises escaping Romano's lips. It was crude, how much he loved the sucking sounds, the whimpers, the cries. The feeling of Romano's little tongue darting across his fingers, heat rubbing the digits and coating them in delicious saliva. . . Spain's cock throbbed much harder.

(For a moment, he couldn't tear his vision from Romano's little cock, standing at attention and looking painfully hard despite Romano's insistence that he didn't want Spain to continue. And, as it was obvious that he _did_ need Spain to press forward, Spain would.)

Spain's other hand toyed with Romano's nipples again, twisting them hard. Romano almost bit on Spain's hand again, the deranged sound from his lips delicious to Spain's ears. Saliva escaped the corners of his mouth as he sucked on Spain's fingers, and Spain laughed a little and tweaked at Romano's nipples all the while, the hardened nubs so very nice under his care.

Finally, he pulled his fingers from Romano's mouth, saliva trailing and glistening in the candlelight. Romano tried to scramble away again, confused and disgusted, and even a little afraid. The cool night air was drying Spain's fingers, so he propped Romano's legs up as best as he could, shoving one finger back into Romano's ass again, the others waiting to follow suit.

Romano let out a harsh cry, his entire body stiffening as Spain's fingers entered him one at a time. The sensation of being stretched while awake must have been foreign, Spain realized, so he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Romano's mouth again, nibbling at Romano's lips to try and distract him.

"Does it feel good yet, Lovino?"

"Stop!" A tear slid from Romano's eye and splattered onto the sheets. He kept shaking his head, but his body was arching to Spain's touch, betraying him. "Ngh!"

Spain scissored his fingers, trying to stretch open Romano's entrance. He stabbed his fingers farther into Romano's body, trying to get his fingers in up to the knuckles, craving the sweet heat. He succeeded, and Romano cried out. All the noises Romano made. . . Romano had to be enjoying this. This night was about them, and their love.

When his fingers were dry and he felt he'd stretched Romano enough, Spain decided it was enough preparation. Romano's body was used to it, surely, after all those nights he and Romano had done the same thing.

He ignored the way Romano visibly relaxed once Spain had stopped and pulled his fingers away. He ignored the way Romano's shaking reduced, the way he wrapped his arms around himself and tried to move away.

Romano _loved_ Spain. Romano had relaxed because he knew that Spain would never hurt him and that what was to come would be so much better. Romano had been shaking less because he wanted to seem stronger so Spain could have pleasure. Romano had tried to crawl away because. . . because. . .

Well. Spain's cock was nowhere near lubricated enough to easily slide into Romano. He didn't want to hurt Romano when it could be avoided. But he doubted he could fit his cock into Romano's mouth (and, _mmm_, what a sight that would be). He also doubted that Romano would submissively suck him like he had done with Spain's fingers. . .

He didn't want Romano to be in pain, so he leaned over Romano enough to dig his fingers into the container of oils.

Technically, he could have used the oils as lubrication to prepare _Romano_ for this, but it was more fun, more loving, to have Romano suck Spain's fingers.

He rubbed his cock (the oils so cold against him), groaning as he imagined how close he was to being inside Romano again. He imagined the adorable moans that would pass through Romano's lips, the way Romano would throw his head back and cry out Spain's name. He slid his fingers over and around the shaft of his penis, trying to coat himself properly.

Romano would have tried to scramble away as this was happening, but he was frozen, just staring. He couldn't drag his vision away from Spain rubbing himself—Romano's little mouth parted and little tongue darting out to lick his lips—and Spain noticed. Smirking, he squeezed himself harder and leaned toward Romano.

"Touch yourself, Lovino. It feels nice."

Romano shook his head, about to say something, when Spain stopped stoking himself and grabbed Romano's cock. Romano gasped (just like Spain imagined he'd sound, only so much better because it was actually happening and, _God_, Romano was so _cute_) and cried out, shaking. Spain rubbed Romano with renewed excitement. Romano's little cock was so very hard, and it fit entirely into Spain's hand.

He ran his fingers down the shaft, stopping to fondle Romano's balls. Romano leaned into his touch with a soft moan, and Spain pressed his lips to the base of Romano's penis, flicking his tongue along the length.

"See?" Romano's reaction had rejuvenated Spain's own cock, throbbing at the smallest lack of attention. Romano's ass seemed like a welcome gift.

"Why's this happening?" he demanded, though his voice wasn't very strong, and his body was leaning closer and closer to Spain's. "My. . . my. . ."

"Your cute little penis is hard because you want sex."

"Sex?" His face was pink, his adorable lips pouting as his wide eyes looked up at Spain. "But I thought. . ."

"_We_'re having sex," Spain said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. It should have been, considering the number of times that he and Romano had gone through his before. (Granted, Romano had always been asleep, but still, sex was sex, whether one of the parties was conscious or not.)

"But you told me lovers did that. We aren't. . . A-and the Bible. . . You're my _Boss_. . ."

Spain refused to acknowledge any of Romano's claims about the Bible, especially not during this. He couldn't completely trust in God or the Bible, anymore. The Bible didn't explain why he loved Romano so much; the Bible didn't explain why he felt so good having sex with Romano when there was no way either of them would reproduce; the Bible didn't explain _anything_ about his wonderful relationship with Romano.

"It means I love you." Spain grinned, pulling his hand from Romano's penis—which was probably so close to release now—to tug on Romano's special hair curl. Romano whined, relaxing into the mattress. "It feels good, doesn't it? When I touch you?"

Romano moaned as Spain twisted the curl around his finger, tugging it hard. He used his other hand, sticky with precome and lubricant, to play with Romano's nipples again. Pinching one, he tried to savor Romano's facial expressions. Romano's eyes were squeezed shut, but his mouth was parted and letting out shaking breaths, saliva escaping the corner of his mouth.

"It do_es_—"

"It doesn't matter _who_ has sex if in the end both are _happy_," Spain murmured. Romano's whole body was quivering attractively. Spain was so hard it _hurt_. "And my love for you is more than any love in the Bible. I love you so much, Lovino."

"An-Antonio. . ." Spain tugged at Romano's hair harder.

Deciding that enough was enough, Spain let go of Romano's curl to turn his attention back to himself.

(It wasn't selfishness; he didn't think so. In the end, it was all about them _together_, as one single entity, as Spain-and-Romano or Romano-and-Spain and not as separate nations with no relation to each other. Antonio-and-Lovino. Lovino-and-Antonio. This would bring them together at last.)

He wrapped Romano's legs around his waist again—Romano was in too much of a daze to object with much more than curses—and parted Romano's ass cheeks so he could position himself into the moist heat.

When the head of his cock was aligned with Romano's entrance, Romano snapped to his senses.

"Antonio, _no_. W-we shouldn't. . . You sh-shouldn't. . ."

"We've done this before." Spain brushed him off, and, without giving time for Romano to ponder on and interpret that statement, he pushed forward, shoving his cock into the welcoming heat. (It had been a bit difficult to move at first, but Romano sucked him in without even knowing it.) "Relax a little, Lovino."

Romano whined in protest, but Spain persevered, and soon, they were together.

He and Romano were _finally_ one. It felt incredible. With Romano awake—though Spain knew it was irrational—his ass almost felt tighter, hotter. Romano's reactions were so much better in reality than in imagination: Spain adored every sound Romano made, every breath he took.

"Pull out!" Romano shrieked, writhing against the bed. Spain sighed; Romano's movements were only making the entire process more uncomfortable for himself. It felt _better_ for Spain. "Get it _out_, goddammit! _Antonio_! _Please_!"

Ignoring Romano's protests as best as he could (by the end, he'd be _begging_ for it), Spain tried to set up a rhythm. He rammed his cock deeper and pulled back, farther into Romano's ass and then backward, until he had a nice pace going. The muscles clenched around his cock, tight and warm, squeezing him in all the right places.

Growling, Spain pulled Romano up to his chest. Romano shifted in discomfort, tears leaking from his eyes as he tried to grow used to the intrusion. Spain tugged at Romano's hair curl again, trying to make it easier for him, but Romano wouldn't stop crying.

"It hurts, Antonio," he whimpered, cheeks tinting red. At first, he tried pushing at Spain's chest, but when it appeared to make the feeling worse, he wrapped his arms around Spain's neck and buried his face into it. "Please _stop_." Hot tears burned Spain's skin and dripped on his shoulders. Maybe it was just sweat. "Ohh, God! An_tonio_!"

It was wrong, but Spain was so much more turned on after that.

Hugging Romano against him, this small child engulfing him in warmth and love, made him eager for more. Romano sated his needs, provided an outlet for the love he harbored. If only Romano would stop being so tense. . .

With a grunt, he restarted his pace, plunging farther into Romano's tiny body, enjoying the slight bouncing of Romano's cock as it rubbed against him. He pressed closer to Romano, their sweaty bodies intertwined and hot against each other. He kissed Romano's forehead and tightened his grip around Romano's waist, sighing.

"Ah-Antonio. . ." Romano sucked in a breath, fists clenched at Spain's back. Spain groaned, tilting his head back a little and burying his cock as far as it could go into Romano. They rocked together, Romano shaking as he stayed in one place and their bodies swayed. Spain tried to make it more comfortable for Romano, but he kept getting distracted by Romano's reactions. Romano's cock rubbed against his skin. "M-mmy. . . Ngh. . ."

"Lovino," he growled, lips to Romano's neck. He flicked his tongue against the tanned skin. "My Lovino."

Behind their heavy breathing, the bed sheets rustling, and the sticky skin-against-skin noises, Spain could hear Romano's sobbing. It made his heart twist, but he couldn't just _stop_. Not in the midst of sex, not when this was possibly one of their last times _together_.

He reached up and yanked at the errant curl that had to _guarantee_ Romano felt pleasure. He tugged it so hard the strand was almost pulled from Romano's head.

"Stop!" Romano begged, breathing loud so his little voice was barely heard. His face went from pink to bright red, the sweetest of sounds escaping Romano's lips. "I'll do something _else_," he trembled as Spain twisted the curl around his finger, "anything you want. Not this." Spain ignored him because Romano had already said it felt good. He was just being his usual self and trying to _deny_ everything. "Boss. . ."

"Let me show you real pleasure, Lovino," Spain murmured. He thrust deeper into Romano, who wailed as tears leaked from his eyes, down his cheeks, under his chin. Romano's legs around Spain's hips wound tighter. "Let me show you how much I love you."

"Antonio!" Romano shrieked, face turning a darker red. His nails dug into Spain's skin. He bounced on Spain's lap (the walls of his ass unknowingly clenching tighter around Spain's cock), and a shameless, delicious moan escaped his lips. "It f-feels. . ."

"Good?" Of course it did, it _had_ to, with the way Romano was a jumble of whimpers on his lap.

"_Antonioooo_!" His normally deep voice was squeaky and more feminine. Spain ran his fingers up and down Romano's back, loving the way Romano's skin felt in his hands.

"Do you like it _now_?" Spain whispered, breathing hard. Romano's happiness made him happy. A smile was forming on his face, excited that Romano was enjoying himself, excited that Romano was showing that he loved Spain.

Spain's heart was pounding and his mind was racing, and his body was demanding to take control over his mind. He wanted to come inside Romano, he wanted to fill Romano with his seed. (His mind and heart said Romano wasn't mentally ready, but he was already so _close_.)

Romano's head was tilted back so his neck was available for more kisses from Spain's lips. His palms lay flat on Spain's back, breezy but hot touches sliding against Spain's skin. He could feel Romano's hardened, candy-like nipples rubbing against his chest (they must have been painful), and he pressed his nose to Romano's skin, inhaling the sweet, milky scent that was this child.

Romano didn't say anything, a quivering mess of moans and cries. His hold on Spain weakened, and Spain could have _sworn_ that Romano cried, "More!" Romano had no idea what was going on, Spain was reluctant to admit, but he _had_ to have been enjoying it.

Spain shifted around a little, trying to move his cock around enough until he could find that place that would ensure Romano's pleasure.

"Let me find the one spot that'll make you wild," Spain whispered in Romano's ear, flicking his tongue against the hot skin.

Romano was shaking his head furiously, but his body was telling Spain something different. "No, no, no." Moans were scattered throughout his pleas. "Antonio! S-_stop_!" His fingernails dug deeper, and Spain pressed farther (he wanted to be buried entirely in Romano). "I don't underst—_Ohh_!"

Had he found it? Spain shifted his position a little, trying to hit Romano's prostate again. Romano cried out a second time—or possibly the third or fourth time, as Romano's cries were too delicious to keep track of—the bobbing curl on his head drooping as he did so.

Spain heard something escape Romano's lips (the sound of, maybe, the word _good_), and he knew, as Romano writhed and moaned, that he had found it. He grinned, eager and excited, and he thrust forward, pounding into Romano's shaking body and striking that place over and over.

Romano trembled on Spain's lap, unknowingly squeezing tighter around Spain's cock. "I. . . Ah-Ahh. . ."

The walls of Romano's ass were hotter, and the crudely delicious sounds escaping Romano's lips drove Spain to the edge. A line of saliva escaped Romano's mouth, and his eyes were glazed over, his body like a doll to become Spain's easily-manipulated toy forever.

"I love you, Lovino," Spain whispered, and before Romano could respond, Spain slammed into Romano's prostate once more, reaching into Romano's hair and _yanking_ on that erect curl.

Screaming and confused and scared, Romano came onto Spain's abdomen.

His come splattered against Spain's stomach as well as the bed, sticky and somehow audible to Spain. Romano tried to pull out of Spain's arms again, unsure of what was happening as he came. (Spain could recall, so long ago, when Romano used to orgasm but not release any come, his body not fully developed, not having reached puberty. How young Romano used to be. . .)

Tears flowed from his eyes in a steady stream, making his face, to Spain, seem all the more beautiful (and confused, and lost, and hopeless).

"Sp-Spain. . ." Romano's arms went slack around Spain's neck, his sticky hair brushing against Spain's sweaty skin. His eyelashes rubbed Spain's shoulder, and he stopped moving.

Spain thrust his cock farther into Romano, lust driving him as Romano emitted beautiful sounds and cries and facial expressions. Deeper, deeper, a little bit backward, deeper, deeper, pulled back a little. Romano's muscles squeezed around Spain, the delicious warmth bringing him _so close_ to release.

He slammed forward in Romano again, the little body shaking severely in his grasp.

Spain pressed his lips to Romano's shoulder, breathing hard as he whispered sweet nothings Romano couldn't hear. "I love you, I love you, I love you." He brought his mouth to Romano's neck, sucking on the sweaty skin and then biting down, with the intent to leave his mark so Romano _couldn't_ forget whose henchman he really was, so Romano couldn't forget that Spain was his Boss.

Shuddering, Spain pushed forward a final time, releasing his load into his little lackey. His come spurted into Romano freely, pouring his essence all throughout Romano, proving that Spain _owned_ him and _no one_ else. Romano belonged to _Spain_. Romano had _Spain_'s come in his ass, no one else's.

(Sex had felt so good; Romano's cries had been more beautiful when he was awake, his sweet voice like a melody as he made feeble protests. Spain relished it all.)

Soft and sated, at last, he slid out of Romano, who shuddered at the action. He felt colder without Romano. Spain's healthy amount of come, tinged slightly pink, leaked from Romano's hole. Spain frowned upon the realization that it was blood. He hadn't _thought_ he'd been too rough. Romano had seemed fine.

And he was happy as along as Romano was happy, and he'd certainly seemed to derive pleasure from their sex.

So the blood was fine. Romano had withstood the smallest pains for the biggest pleasure, and in the end, it was all worth it. Romano had wanted it, had been thrilled to finally be with Spain.

Plucking Romano's arms and unwrapping Romano's legs from his body, he set Romano back down into the sheets, so sleep would be more comfortable. With his eyes closed, Romano looked all the more fragile and small. His face still shined with tears, his dark eyelashes clumped together and pressed to his cheeks. The moonlight accentuated every smooth curve of his body, showing off every arch and dip and shadow.

"Lovino. . ." Spain whispered, wetting his lips. He kissed Romano's cheek, the taste of salty, drying tears pressing against his lips. How he craved another round.

He settled down into the blankets beside him, still high from orgasm. He ran his fingers over Romano's little arm, the skin a bit too cold for his liking. "My cute little lackey," Spain said with pride. "My favorite boy." He stared hard at the drying tears on his unconscious henchman's face. "How I love you."

He and Romano were both sticky with sweat and come. Before Romano, Spain had always felt dirty after sex. Romano made him happy, and he made Romano happy. They lay together, breathing heavily.

That night, he and Romano had become one; they were together at last.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry this took forever to get out. Standardized tests controlled my life for the past how long. XD**

**Whew! This was one of the longest chapters yet, and it took **_**forever **_**to get right, though I'm really not sure how well I did with this scene, with it being the first time I'm writing 'smut.' XD I think that parts of this were written sort of cheesily and predictably, but I'm still a first-timer, so if you have any suggestions on how to fix my smut writing, let me know. ;)**

**I know this wasn't the happiest or best-written of chapters (and the upcoming two won't be any, well, happier), but I hope you liked it! ^^**


	5. Part V

**Warnings in this chapter for language, references to noncon and dubcon, and a 'different' ending. Deanon from the kinkmeme.**

* * *

><p><strong>validation<strong>

"Lovino," Spain whispered, pressing his lips to Romano's neck. His heart pounded wildly, excitement and bliss coursing through him as he smiled with utter love at his beautiful South Italy. He couldn't believe that he and Romano had _finally_ done it. His breath was hot against Romano's neck. "Lovino. . ."

Beside him, he could feel Romano grow stiff, his breathing uneven and harsh as he trembled. Why wasn't Romano as happy as he was? "Leave me alone."

"But, Lovi," Spain frowned a bit, confusion lacing his tone, "we just—"

"Leave me the _fuck_ alone, Spain." Romano's fingers dug into Spain's chest, pushing him away and yet not.

_But why_? Spain wanted to ask. His eyebrows were scrunched together.

Romano's voice shook and his arms looked limp. "I said I didn't want you to, dammit!" His voice cracked, then, and Spain wet his lips. At first he wasn't sure what Romano was talking about, and then he put the situation and the words together. "I didn't _want_ it, Spain. I fucking _said_ so!"

Spain didn't know how to react. Romano seemed upset, regretful that they'd finally consummated their relationship. He couldn't understand Romano's feelings, didn't have the ability to read into _why_ Romano was unhappy. He could only register Romano's glistening eyes and shaking body and the fact that he wasn't calling Spain _Antonio_ anymore, and he slithered his arms under and around Romano, pulling him so they were closer together.

"What's wrong?" he murmured, caressing Romano's cheek. Romano's hair was still sticky, and it clumped together oddly against his skin. He brushed Romano's special curl with care. "Lovino?"

"Spain. . ." Romano's adorable, pouting lips distracted Spain for a moment. He wanted to share more sweet kisses with his little henchman. He wanted Romano to be dizzy from their love, the way he had been the night before. Romano's face was a light pink. "Why?"

Spain gazed at him, eyes tender and devoted and indulgent. He could see on Romano's skin the marks he'd left with his teeth. Proof that Romano was his. "Why. . . what, exactly?" He didn't want Romano to cry; he wouldn't be able to handle Romano's sadness.

But he couldn't understand Romano's reaction to him, not at all. _Why_ did Spain love Romano? The response to that question was so obvious it didn't need answering. There were so, so many reasons Spain loved Romano. _Why_ did they finally have sex while Romano was awake? Spain was losing Romano, most likely, and he couldn't bear the thought of Romano without having him know the extent of love between them. _Why_ was Romano refusing him now? Spain wasn't sure; maybe Romano's nerves were getting the best of him.

Romano swallowed. "What the hell was last night for?"

Spain wondered if perhaps Romano's limited knowledge of sex was the cause. Perhaps Romano was worried about his lost virginity (at that thought, though, he resisted the urge to laugh again; it had been such a _long_ time since Romano had _really_ lost his virginity), or that God was looking at them with contempt. Perhaps Romano didn't know how to deal with the after-feeling of sex, now that he knew it had occurred.

Always the perceptive lover, Spain pressed a kiss to Romano's reddened cheek before chuckling. And then he was laughing. He laughed so hard he almost had to sit up. He laughed so hard his sides began to hurt. He laughed so hard he almost didn't see Romano's face contort into something very sad.

"Oh, Lovi, you know _exactly_ what last night was." He ruffled Romano's hair before sliding his fingers down playfully. He rested his palm on Romano's chest, feeling the racing heart pounding beneath his fingers and the rapid breaths making Romano's chest rise and fall. Spain was proud that he'd somewhat been able to guess what Romano's question was. "It was all about _us_."

He'd been worried for nothing. Sure, he didn't know why Romano was reacting this way—as though he was actually _sad_, when there was no possible way that he could have been—but that was remediable. Boss Spain could fix anything for his little Lackey Romano.

He brushed his thumb over one of Romano's nipples, feeling the child under his hand stop moving and breathing, wide green eyes to Spain's face again.

"Us?" Romano managed, choking before selecting a word.

Spain melted, wanting nothing more than just _this_, the way they were at that very moment. There were no worries between them, no fears. It was all about them and the love they shared and nothing else. Spain and Romano. Romano and Spain. Always about the two of them. Always.

His smile grew wider as his thumb moved in (hopefully calming) circles over Romano's nipple. "Because we love each other." At Romano's disbelieving expression, Spain continued his explanation, "Because. . . for all this time. . ." he paused to think of the best way to phrase his racing thoughts, "you've been tempting me."

Romano took in a lot of breath at that moment. "I have _not_."

"Silly Lovino, of _course_ you have." Spain pulled Romano so their bodies were against each other, again, heat transferring from one to the other, breaths mingling and touches colliding. "You've been kissing me and touching me, and I've wanted you so, so much, Lovino. I've wanted you in more ways than just last night, for such a long time."

"B-but you said I was _supposed_ to kiss you. I was supposed to touch you. That's what you said people did for their Bosses, dammit! That's why you made me. . ."

Spain chuckled because Romano was just so naïve and willing to deny everything splayed in front of him. "_Made_? You and I were _made_ for each other. That was natural. I didn't need to _make_ you do anything for me."

Romano shook his head, swallowing. "I didn't, Spain." Spain's heart leapt upon hearing his name (even if it wasn't his human name, it was enough) pass through Romano's sweet lips. "I fucking _didn't_." He didn't stop shaking his head, and he kept trying to pull out of Spain's heavy, demanding, passionate embrace. "I didn't, I didn't, I _didn't_!"

"Last night was proof that we love each other, Lovino." Spain smiled, his finger wrapping around Romano's hair curl and twisting it. Romano whined, stopping his struggles. "Don't be naïve and pretend to deny it. You _came_, Lovino. You came onto the bed, and onto my stomach, and onto yourself. You said you liked it."

Romano's eyelashes fluttered, and his breathing remained uneven. "C-coming. . . That doesn't mean I liked it," he protested, looking up into Spain's eyes. "I didn't say that."

"You wanted it, Lovino. You proved it when we kissed and when you touched me."

He turned away from Spain, then, face bright pink and mood downcast. "I thought you wouldn't keep me otherwise. . ." Romano murmured, voice barely audible.

They both remained silent. Spain wasn't sure if he'd heard Romano correctly; his voice had been so quiet. Because he didn't want to say the wrong thing while Romano was as delicate as he was at the moment, he chose not to pursue that topic.

"You promised that you would do this for me," he said finally. "We're together now, and nothing can change that." Spain hoped he sounded comforting to ease Romano's fears. He didn't want to have Romano worry about the war just yet.

"There was _everything_ wrong, goddammit," Romano insisted, voice becoming strong at last. He almost seemed ready to pull away and leave the room, and Spain's hold around Romano's body tightened, whether in anger or defense he wasn't sure. "I _told_ you no, and you still. . . Don't feed me this shit about love."

Spain was silent for a moment, the only sounds in the room of their heavy breathing. "But sex is love, Lovino. I love you so much I had to show you last night. And you love me, too."

"Sex isn't supposed to be between two me—"

"Never say that," Spain said, looking toward the ceiling. His face felt hot, and he felt a sudden, passionate urge overtake him. "I love you, and you feel the same way, so God is happy. There was nothing wrong in what we did."

"But I didn't want to. . ." Romano's voice was so quiet Spain almost missed it again. With more determination, he continued, "It hurt. Love shouldn't hurt."

Spain chuckled, his fingers light against Romano's skin. Romano wouldn't run from him. "You weren't listening to me when I told you to relax. I told you it wouldn't hurt if you relaxed, remember?" He exhaled. "Next time we'll get it right."

"_Next_ time?" Romano demanded incredulously. His face was red, and Spain found it quite attractive. "I didn't _want_ it _last_ time! That's why last night was wrong, dammit!"

Spain shook his head with a relaxed smile plastered to his face. Silly, silly Romano. He pressed his nose to Romano's sweet-smelling hair, breath tickling the curls like a soft breeze. "If you didn't want to, Lovino, then you'd have stopped me."

**question**

"Lovino," Spain smiled, sitting up straighter in his chair. He'd set up food on the table for the two of them, since they hadn't eaten together in so long. Romano stared at him, face blooming into a beautiful tomato-red. "Come eat with me." His voice was almost singing. He'd missed Romano so much since they'd been apart.

Romano shook his head quickly, biting out, "Don't fucking _talk_ to me, you bastard!" He spun and ran from the threshold.

Spain didn't know what he did wrong, but he resisted the urge to run after his henchman and ask.

**growth**

Spain watched with relative calmness as Romano's lips curved into a tiny smile when he saw the woman at the fruit cart. Romano's voice didn't carry the usual anger it had when he was with Spain, and he almost seemed lighter, more carefree.

He felt rather neutral about the situation, as he and Romano were the two that were in love; _they_ were the two lovers, not Romano and the fruit vendor. No matter what the woman did—no matter what smiles and laughs she solicited from Romano—she was never going to be the one who had Romano in her embrace. She was never going to have Romano in the same manner Spain already had.

(She would never hold Romano. She would never fuck Romano. She would never have Romano. Not like Spain.)

"I'm Maria Rosa," the woman murmured, interrupting Spain's thoughts and tucking her hair behind her ear. It was a standard flirtatious move, and Spain almost felt bad that Romano would have to reject her. "If you're really nice, though, I might just let you call me 'Rosa.'"

"Can _I _call you _Rosa_?" Romano's light smile was more of a smirk now, and Spain felt comforted seeing it.

"You're a little cutie, so sure." She beamed and Romano smirked again and Spain felt lost. "What shall I call you?"

Romano's face fell, then, and he was quiet for a long time. The sound of the letter _r_ left his lips for a brief second—and Spain didn't appreciate that because Romano was _Lovino_; he was more Spanish than Italian, now; he had to be—and then he frowned. With a quick glance at Spain (and Spain pretended that Romano wasn't _un_happy, that the scowl meant he was proud), Romano muttered, "Lovino."

"That's an interesting name," Rosa said politely, placing several good fruits into the basket Romano had handed to her earlier. "Are you from here?"

". . . Yes." Romano looked back at Spain again, their eyes connecting for the briefest of moments though it felt like an eternity had passed between them. Spain found himself breathless, heart pounding and hands trembling.

He wanted to grab Romano and run from the market and lock him away from all sight. He wanted to be the only one to ever see Romano, as _he_ was the only one who understood the boy beside him. He hadn't been able to truly look at Romano in what felt like _ages_, and _he _was the only one who had seen Romano in all his glory.

She nodded, giggling. "Very well, that'll be—"

"Rosa!" The three turned to the direction of the voice, watching as a man sprinted up to the fruit cart. He was shorter than Spain by mere centimeters, and his posture made him seem much smaller. Romano moved closer to Spain, and Spain's face felt warmer, happier. "Mamí's looking for us. Why isn't Felipe running the stand?"

The man, most likely Rosa's brother, turned to face Romano after he finished one of his statements. He seemed harmless, and the gesture was innocent. A smile—one meant as a greeting toward new people—adorned his face as he listened to his sister speak.

"Let's go," Romano demanded all of a sudden, tugging on Spain's shirt. He was standing behind Spain, now, his face nearly pressed to Spain's back.

Spain repeated Romano's words in his head a couple of times before it registered that, for the first time in a long time, Romano was willingly talking to him. It wasn't much of a discussion, sure, but it was still words being exchanged between them. He tried not to let his excitement show, but it was very much obvious in that he couldn't remember what they'd been talking about.

"Hmm?" He grinned.

"I want to go _home_, dammit!" Romano narrowed his eyes at the other man, Felipe, his fists clenching and clutching Spain's shirt tight. Spain knew Romano well enough to say that his henchman hated new people (particularly men, as of late) but he couldn't quite decide why Romano wasn't even fighting with this stranger before trying to run.

Spain looked down, resting his hand on Romano's head in confusion. His fingers burned from the contact with Romano after so long. "Let me just buy these—"

"_Now_!" His voice was pleading, his lower lip trembling in a way that made Spain's heart melt. He wanted to ask Romano what was wrong, but he knew he wouldn't get an answer. Romano hadn't been truthful with him since the start of their relationship, and he couldn't expect much more from him now. "He's looking at me. . ."

Spain frowned. The man was no longer looking at Romano, engrossed in his conversation as he had been for a minute now. "Not anymore, Lovino. Stop overreacting."

Romano turned his gaze from Spain to the other man and then back to Spain again. "I'm not. . . _do_ing anything. . . right?" His hands twisted in Spain's shirt, and Spain could feel Romano shaking. Spain tried to smile, and two feelings were combating for control of his body. "Not that I care."

On the one hand, he was absolutely _thrilled_ that Romano was talking to him again. Being ignored by Romano for so long felt terrible. On the other hand, he was so very confused regarding Romano's reaction to this stranger. He didn't want Romano to feel uncomfortable, especially if he seemed to think something was wrong, but there just _wasn't_ anything wrong.

_Other than being adorable, I don't know_, Spain wanted to say. It wasn't an appropriate time for him to flirt, though, so he didn't.

Romano coughed. "I didn't. . . I didn't look at him weird, right?"

Spain stared at him, not quite sure what to say. Romano was acting so very strange. "I'll come back and buy these fruits later, if you want." Romano nodded quickly, and Spain tilted his head to begin a second examination of Romano. Before he could start, though, Romano was fading into the distance, running in the direction of their home.

Rosa and the other man gave Spain an odd look, and, with a sheepish, sorry smile, he chased after his henchman.

**delusion**

Spain found Romano in his room, hugging a pillow to his chest and pouting in the adorable way that was his own. He'd thought Romano had forgiven him for whatever he'd done, but apparently that was not the case. "Lovino?" he asked, a slow beginning to what he hoped was not the end. "Lo_vi_no?"

"What?" Romano snapped, tightening his grip around the pillow. He refused to meet Spain's gaze, glaring at a spot on the bed with such passion Spain was momentarily stunned.

"Why did you run from the fruit vendor?" He sat down near Romano, placing his hand on Romano's hand, his eyes on Romano's pink face. "Talk to me," he said, and he was surprised at how desperate he sounded, how much he _needed_ Romano to talk to him again.

Spain was reluctant to admit it, but Romano had been distant from him as of late. Romano had started running from the room whenever Spain entered, treating Spain like he was the plague. They weren't together as often as they were supposed to be, especially with Spain leaving more and more frequently for the war.

He missed spending time with Romano; it was getting harder and harder to come home to see his little henchman, and now Romano was avoiding him without a justifiable reason on the rare occasions they were together. His heart ached, and he wanted so much to wrap his arms around Romano's waist and apologize for whatever it was that he must have done wrong.

There had always been times that Romano did this, ignored him without cause, but this had never occurred when Spain was in a war. Romano's cold behavior hurt more when it was occurring for such a long period of time.

Romano shook his head, determined to stay silent. Spain intertwined their fingers, and, for a moment, Romano stayed like that, holding Spain's hand. It was how they had been before, comfortable and loving with each other, natural. Then he yanked his hand away from Spain's, scooting toward the headboard of the bed. Spain felt cold.

"Why are you mad at me?" Spain knew how anxious he sounded now, and Romano seemed to notice as well. They stared at each other. "I'm sorry." He didn't know what he was apologizing for.

"You fucking _know_ why," Romano muttered at last, looking down again. _Tell me_, Spain almost said. When Spain didn't say anything, Romano expanded, "That night."

Spain wasn't sure what night Romano was talking about. He watched Romano for a long time, trying to read his movements and see what had been meant by his words. He thought of the last night that he and Romano had talked, had been _together_, and he hoped he understood the situation correctly. At the same time, he hoped to be wrong.

But then he frowned, unsure of why Romano always brought up that night as though it had been unpleasant. It had been a fully consensual, mutually loving consummation of their desires and loves, and nothing Romano complained about would change that.

"What about it?"

Romano shook his head. "Maybe I lead you on, Spain, but that doesn't mean I wanted _that_. . ." His voice cracked halfway through his statement, and he buried his face into the pillow, muffling his voice. Spain leaned in closer to Romano, straining to hear him. "I'm not going to lead _anyone_ on anymore."

Spain reached forward and slid his fingers into Romano's hair, trying, once again, to be comforting. He couldn't understand Romano's need to deny everything he wanted. Mostly, he couldn't understand why Romano was _still_ pretending he hadn't wanted sex that night.

Why was Romano holding a grudge on something that didn't deserve anger? It didn't make sense to Spain.

"Lovino," he started, with a gentle but stern voice. Spain supposed he had to try and teach this to Romano before it was engrained in his brain that he really _hadn't_ wanted it. He didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea. "You _did_ want sex that night."

"I said _no_, dammit!"

"If you didn't want it," Spain continued, as though Romano hadn't spoken, "you should have stopped me." He smiled a little, feeling that _finally_ they were getting somewhere, that they were closer to fixing the relationship that had been deteriorating throughout the past few weeks. He felt as though he was repeating himself, saying things to Romano that they both already knew, things that didn't need to be said. "You _could_ have stopped me. You _would_ have stopped me."

Romano opened his mouth to protest again, but Spain persisted before he could be interrupted.

"Our _love_, Lovino, that's why neither of us wanted to stop. We proved how much we loved each other that night; we proved that our love is stronger than anything." He pressed his lips to Romano's forehead, feeling and ignoring how Romano stiffened. "You love Boss Antonio, don't you?" Romano was silent. "_Don't_ you?"

Romano didn't say anything at first, but then he nodded ever-so-slowly. Even though he knew this fact already, Spain's heart jumped. Having Romano acknowledge this made his worries from the prior months—or, at this point, had it already been years?—fade into nothing.

"But. . ."

Once, it had been understood that they would sleep in the same bed simply because Romano felt comfortable with the arrangement and they loved being near each other. Now, Romano refused to stay near Spain, insisting on sleeping in his own bed, alone.

He hoped Romano would come back to him. He missed their nightly rituals. He missed wrapping his arms around Romano before they slept, the warmth of their breaths and bodies mingling. He missed being able to kiss Romano, being able to taste the sweet boy that he loved and cherished so dearly. He missed making love to Romano, with Romano, the feeling of their bodies joining as one and proving that, _yes_, they truly loved each other.

He missed Romano so, so much. He missed Romano more than anyone could understand.

"Let Boss help you feel better," Spain kept going, leaving a trail of light kisses down the side of Romano's face to his lips. He wound his fingers in Romano's hair, twisting and curling the dark brown strands with fondness. "Let's fix this."

Romano's dark eyelashes pressed to his cheeks, and he let out a soft sigh. He was almost settling into this routine, the routine between them that represented what their relationship was. Spain wanted it to continue.

Romano snapped his eyes open again. "What the _fuck_ are you _doing_?"

"Lovino?" Spain tilted his head, confused.

Hadn't they just resolved everything? Wasn't everything supposed to be back to normal?

Romano shoved at Spain's chest, scrambling off the bed. The tiniest smirk adorned his lips, and Spain found it beautiful, despite the rejection. (He didn't want to think about how he was _used_ _to_ rejection from Romano at this point.)

"Dammit! I'm not fixed and I never _will_ be, bastard! You ruined everything!" He chucked the pillow at Spain's head and ran from the room. "Fuck you!"

Spain watched his small body retreat into the distance and sighed, disappointment and excitement coursing through him at once. Sure, Romano had just run from one of his advances, but he was behaving like himself again. And having Romano act like himself was enough. He wasn't about to be selfish and demand more from Romano than he was ready for.

After all, that was what love was.

**closing**

"You're going to live in Austria's house again." Spain was smiling, but he was tired and he wasn't in the mood for an argument. His heart ached and wanted to cry. After all the fighting and the broken relationships and the _years_ of effort he'd put in, he had lost the one part of his life that he relied on. The one part of his life that was _his_. (He didn't mind his new boss, at least.) He would miss Romano so much.

"Why?" Romano stood up, crossing his arms. It was strange, hearing Romano's voice again. It didn't look like he believed Spain, which was unnerving because Spain was actually telling the _truth_ this time.

"I want you to spend more time with your brother. I don't think you two—"

"Spain!" Romano shouted, glaring at his (soon to be _former_) caretaker. "I'm not a fucking baby anymore. You were in a war and it's over now. Did you lose? Is that why?"

Spain stared at Romano, a blank look on his face, as he'd only been able to process that Romano's voice had cracked somewhere in his speech and that Romano was angry. But didn't he see that Spain was _protect_ing him by withholding information?

". . . Is it because I've been ignoring you?" Romano looked away, face a light pink. "I. . . I didn't mean. . ." Spain smiled a bit; at least Romano felt a little guilty for ignoring him. He wondered if this was yet another step to repairing their deteriorating relationship, though it felt like such a late time for him to be doing so. "Dammit. I'll stop if it fixes everything."

"You're too young," Spain said instead, deciding not to detail the war to his depressed little henchman (who wouldn't be his henchman anymore).

"I'm not a kid anymore!"

Spain was surprised by the outburst even though it wasn't at all unusual for Romano to yell in this manner. Of course Romano was still a kid; Romano certainly _looked_ like one. "Lovino?"

Romano was breathing hard, green eyes narrowed at Spain. "Don't fucking call me that! That's not my name."

"It is. . ." Spain murmured, knowing it wasn't the best time for an argument but continuing one anyway. "Ah, well. With Austria, I suppose that you'll be—"

"I don't want to live with that jerk Austria, dammit!"

He couldn't argue the decision that the treaty had made. At least Romano wasn't being forcibly dragged away from him (though the nagging feelings in his heart made the situation feel that way). Romano would be able to spend time with his brother. That was always nice. Perhaps Spain would be able to visit. He and Austria used to have a relationship; maybe he could use it to his advantage. . .

"Don't forget Boss, okay?" Spain said as a means of ending the discussion. "Besides," he laughed a little, trying to remain hopeful, "you said you always hated your name."

Quietly, so Spain almost missed it, he heard Romano whisper, "I'd rather be your Lovino." Or, possibly, he hadn't heard it at all. Spain had been telling himself that Romano had been talking to him for so long, trying to persuade himself that nothing was wrong, that he wasn't alone and would never be.

Spain's lips curved into a light smile, his heart pounding erratically and aching and wanting to keep Romano forever. Spain's arms twitched, and he wanted to run forward and hug his cute little Romano, but he resisted.

How much time had passed, since he'd first been given this child? Since he'd grown to love this child? Since they had, together, become a single entity? Since they'd fallen apart?

Looking at Romano, Spain smiled sadly. "I'll miss you, Lovino." The look on Romano's face at Spain's words made Spain suddenly wish he knew how to read others' facial expressions, the emotions splayed on their faces. He'd never been able to understand Romano, like he'd wanted from the start. "You'll always be Boss's favorite little henchman."

Romano stared at him for a long time, lower lip trembling. And then he was in Spain's arms, tears soaking Spain's shirt as he quivered and cried and punched Spain's body as though it was _Spain_'s fault this was all happening. (And he almost felt like it was.) Spain felt his eyes sting but refused to cry and make things worse.

If he closed his eyes, he could still see the little boy who had come to his house and lazed around for hundreds of years. He could still see the naïve little boy whose name he'd changed to mean 'I ruin.' He could still see the pure little boy he'd stolen at night and filled with himself.

He was losing his _everything_, his Romano, his Lovino. "I love you," he whispered, voice cracking and husky. "Even if you pretend you don't, I will always love you. . ."

Romano pulled back from Spain a little, the oddest little expression dancing across his face. "Don't say that, anymore."

**mistaken**

Spain's fingers tugged at the ribbon on Romano's shirt, eyes imploring as his thumb brushed Romano's bare skin.

He felt two sides of him arguing again, one telling him that it really was his last chance and the other telling him that he shouldn't do it, not when he wasn't sure how much damage had been done between him and Romano. But he'd missed his Romano so much, and it had been so long and would be so long. . .

It would be immoral yes, but he needed this. _They_ needed this. They needed to show to God and to everyone that they were together, that they loved each other, that they were never and would never be alone. They needed to show that distance and time and other obstacles could never keep them apart.

"One more time, Lovino?" He licked his lips and felt Romano stiffen in his arms when it became apparent to him what it was that Spain wanted.

"What?" Romano's voice was low, disbelieving. He wiped his face with his palms, rubbing roughly enough that his cheeks turned redder.

"We won't ever be with each other again," Spain said quickly, wondering how bad it was that he was milking the situation for all that it was worth, "and I love you so very much. . ." But then, since they loved each other anyway, what was one night of sex before they would be apart for the longest time?

He would get Romano back, and he would keep Romano with him until the end of time. They would always be together. They would always love each other.

All he really wanted was to spend time with Romano again, time he had lost because of the fighting and the lack of communication between him and his henchman. Spain let out a large breath. "Don't you want to be with Boss?" He chose his words carefully. "You've been ignoring me for so long, Lovino. I've missed you."

"I don't. . . But. . ." Romano bit his lip before bursting out with the question he'd most likely wanted to ask since the start, since the few days prior when Spain had announced that Romano would be living with Austria again. "Will I be able to stay? If I do?"

"Well," Spain didn't exactly want to _lie_, especially knowing how naïve Romano still was, "if you don't. . ." He wrung his hands, watching the emotions run through Romano's face. Spain hadn't technically done anything wrong. If Romano interpreted his words incorrectly, then so be it.

His own heart pounded faster and faster with each second Romano spent debating with himself.

Romano's lips parted, his answer splayed before Spain like gold.

Spain internally cursed Romano's naïveté. He cursed how much he loved Romano, cursed how much Romano loved him in return. Because, even with the long time in between his question and Romano's answer, he'd known what the response would be.

Romano would always come back to him because Spain was the first person Romano had ever trusted. (He liked to think he hadn't broken that trust.)

There was something between them that could never be erased, not after everything they'd been through together, not after everything Spain had done to guarantee Romano belonged to him.

He pushed these thoughts (worries) aside and smiled. He was being silly. It was still love, no matter how people looked at it.

**metamorphosis**

He had noticed it before Romano did, and that was probably saying something. Spain had noticed Romano's hair getting darker—the process was very slow, so Spain wondered if maybe he was just old and Romano's hair was always that color—the once straight and silky strands curling _just a little_.

He looked a little less like Veneziano and a little more like Spain. Spain couldn't help the pride and confusion bubbling in his chest. How had Romano grown to look like him, when they weren't even related?

(Well. . . France's _thing—_lackey? henchman? colony?—whatever his name was before England got him, had a similar hair color and style to France. Maybe it was the same concept. Romano had grown up with Spain, and even before Romano had come to live with him, he'd still associated with the boy. But how much was too much? Spain had spent a lot of time _away _from Romano as of late. They hadn't made love since that first night, until now. How was this happening?)

Perhaps it meant that Romano was finally growing up. Maybe Romano was going to finally leave the small childhood body he still hadn't abandoned for hundreds of years. Spain was a little excited for that. Romano was older now, yes, but he still had yet to become a teen, a more appropriate age. He still had yet to _grow up_. Spain wondered if it was a different type of puberty Romano was finally going through, but pushed it aside as him being overprotective Boss.

Did it mean that South Italy really _was_ a part of Spain now? It would make sense, with how much Spain had given Romano, how long they'd been together, how much he loved Romano.

And they'd been together for a _long_ time.

It didn't help that almost every night before the war, Spain had entered Romano. Almost every night, he'd touched and played with his little lackey. Almost every night, he'd filled Romano with himself, spread his power and strength and love into Romano. Every night, he called Romano _Lovino_. Every night, Spain pressed his lips to every last centimeter of South Italy. His influence extended far beyond the capacity where he thought it would.

But he noticed something else, too. In the pale moonlight, Romano's skin used to glow white, a symbol of his youth and purity. As the years progressed (those many, long years), he stopped being as white and pure and innocent. Now he was as dark as Spain.

"Lovino?" he started, rolling onto his side drowsily and stroking Romano's bare shoulder. Spain ignored the salty (now it was bitter) smell in the air, the smell of their aftersex.

"What, bastard?" Romano grumbled, burying himself deeper into the blankets. His voice—even deeper now, because he was older but not old enough—had lost the original anger that had come when Spain used to call him _Lovino. _At this point, though, he was most likely used to it. Maybe he'd even accepted it (because he _loved_ Spain). When Spain didn't say anything, Romano demanded, "_What?_"

Spain smiled, trying to make it look like he didn't care. He _was_ concerned, though; he just wasn't _that_ concerned. (Noticing was a completely different thing from acting upon his observations. He wasn't going to act.) In his mind, the changes in Romano symbolized the progression of South Italy into a real territory of the Spanish Empire. A territory that he had lost, a territory he had to give away. He had every intention of fighting to get Romano back.

"Have your eyes always been. . ." He trailed off, not quite sure what to say. Romano wouldn't understand; he was a child, a sweet, pure, innocent child that was slowly growing up into someone Spain wasn't quite ready for but wanted all the same.

Because then, while he would still be damned, it would be a _little_ less drastic. God hadn't completely forsaken someone like him, who only wanted love. Spain had only ever given Romano love, and Romano had only ever loved him back. Spain and Romano, Romano and Spain, it had always been about them, in his opinion.

"Been. . . ?" The suspicion in Romano's eyes was astounding. Spain couldn't tear his gaze away, wouldn't have been able to even if he'd tried.

Romano's eyes were beautiful. They shone to a darker brown when he was particularly angry or passionate about a subject. When he was feeling light-hearted or loving (rare events that made Spain's heart race), his eyes would lighten to a softer color. Spain loved Romano's eyes. He loved the way Romano's eyes were so expressive—though Spain rarely even tried to interpret what Romano was thinking—the way his eyes sparkled whenever Spain was around.

He could remember times when Romano's eyes met his and they couldn't tear their gazes from each other, times where they traced each other's bodies with their eyes, times where their eyes met accidently and then couldn't pull away.

The night before, the second time Romano had been awake as they loved, Romano had laid there, in all his beauty and splendor, allowing Spain to ravish every last part of him with kisses and touches and bites. Romano had not moved on his own—until Spain took his hands again and _showed_ him exactly what to do—but he hadn't moved his eyes from Spain's face.

He'd watched Spain the whole time, from when Spain had torn Romano's clothes off his body to when he'd sucked and licked and kissed the bare skin to when they were joined together again. Unless they were closed (which they were only when Romano came and panted out _Spain_ with his delectable voice when it ended), Romano's eyes had never moved from Spain's face.

This time, though, Spain wasn't just looking at Romano's eyes because they were beautiful.

"G-green. Like mine?" He stumbled on his words and caught himself quickly. He was a Boss. Weakness, stuttering, Spain just couldn't show that. Romano relied on him; he was the only steady thing in Romano's life—but he supposed that would be Austria's job, now—and he couldn't lose that standing.

The last time Spain had _really_ checked, Romano's eyes were a shade of brown.

Romano was silent for a few minutes, making the only sounds in the room the synchronized melody of Spain's and Romano's breathing. The two stared at each other for a long time, two pairs of bright green eyes unable to tear their gazes away from each other.

Finally, Romano said, "What kind of fucked up question is that? Eye colors don't change overnight, dumbass." He closed his eyes again, eyelashes fluttering, seemingly ready to sleep again. There was a slight tremor in his body, but Spain decided to ignore it.

"So what color are your eyes, Lovino?" Spain's voice was completely serious, and he forced himself to laugh, so as to not worry his little henchman.

"Brown?" Spain stiffened; Romano yawned and buried himself deeper into the bed. With a lack of response from Spain other than the slight shifting of the mattress, he persisted, "Dammit, they're green!"

Spain couldn't tear his eyes from the fragile little form that was Romano. "I thought you said they were brown."

"I forgot, big _deal_. I don't stare at myself every day, unlike your arrogant ass." Romano sat up a little, opening his eyes wide and staring at Spain. "They're green, _see_?" They were a very nice emerald, and, now that Spain looked closer, there were light brown flecks in them.

His eyes were still beautiful, as he was _Romano_, but Spain was so very confused.

He laughed and was anything but happy. Romano's eyes hadn't had a smidgen of green in them when he'd first moved in with Spain. Was it related to Spanish influence? Was Romano growing into someone more like Spain because they spent so much time together? The idea was both flattering and worrisome.

"Yes, yes. Thank you for telling me." Spain laughed louder. "A lot like Boss's, right?"

"Nuthin' like yours, dammit," Romano muttered, flattening himself against the mattress and trying to sleep again. "'Dun wanna be like you. . ."

Spain stared at his henchman for a long time, taking in the new, different features of the boy he thought he knew. It was too late for him, now, to learn anything more about Romano. He rested his palm on the top of Romano's head, the curling strands of hair damp from sweat.

Was he being punished now, for loving Romano for all these years? Did he really deserve this? Did Romano?

No. . . He couldn't afford to think like that. These thoughts were wrong, this mental image was wrong, the whole idea that punishment could exist for _them_ was wrong wrong wrong. It was all about change and love and _them_, always _them_. Romano was changing for him because of how much he loved Spain.

"You're right," Spain said at length. His voice was hollow. His fingers pressed against Romano's scalp, the heat of Romano's skin searing to his own body.

Romano grumbled in response.

**revelation**

Romano stared at Spain, the words repeating in his head a couple times, flashing through his eyes. "No. . ." He looked back to Spain again, absolute denial spread over him like a protective blanket. "You said. . . You said. . ." His voice cracked, again.

"I'm sorry," Spain said quietly. He wanted to turn his vision away from the wreck Romano was becoming, but he couldn't look away when he knew he'd caused it.

"You lied to me _again_! I thought that I. . . God_dammit_, Spain! I hate you! I fucking hate you!" Romano's voice was shaking, desperate, a knife in Spain's heart. "I let you t-touch me! You said I could stay if I. . . if I. . ." He clenched the material of his pants so hard his hands were white.

Spain knew what he had promised, knew the repercussions of failing to follow through with it meant. But it had been for _them_. Both he and Romano would have regretted not having that final time together before Romano left for Austria's house. It was better this way.

Austria would be coming to collect his prize, to collect Spain's Romano, and there was nothing that either of them could do, at that point.

"Lovino. . ." he began, his hand resting on Romano's upper arm.

"I l-let you fu-fuck me. A-and I d-didn't w-want—"

Spain paused. Was Romano. . . crying? "Don't call it that," Spain snapped anyway, tightening his hold on his (technically former) henchman. He wasn't going to go through this argument again before Romano left. "How many times are we going to go through this? How many times do you need me to explain the obvious _truth_ to you?"

Somewhere, in the midst of his dialogue, his hand had clenched around Romano's arm instead of resting on his shoulder.

Romano wiped his face with his sleeve, still shaking. Spain's tone of voice, so rarely used, visibly frightened him. Spain felt guilty for the briefest moment before shoving it aside with all the other regrets of his life. There were a lot of things in his life he'd had to surrender, but Romano and their love would never be one of them.

"Wh-what do you want m-me to say? I d-didn't want it!"

His grasp on Romano tightened again, and he could feel Romano's bones, so fragile in his grip. Romano squeaked, indignant but frantic to do what Spain wanted so the pain would stop.

"That was _love_, Lovino." Spain went down on one knee in front of Romano so he wouldn't have to look down at him. (Love was equal. They were equal. See? He understood.) Romano looked downward now, wiping at his face, at the tears that Spain wasn't sure if he was really seeing. Spain blinked.

Romano shook his head, eyes sparkling with fresh tears. "I-it's not how I love you, Spain."

Not. . . How did Romano love him then? That wasn't true. It couldn't have been true. His Romano. . . His Romano. . .

He wouldn't _let_ that be true.

Spain frowned, breathing hard and loud, so Romano could hear him and feel the _pain_ he was feeling. Romano was lying to him again. He couldn't take these lies, not when they were losing each other. "How can you say that? If you didn't love me, this wouldn't have happened. We _made love_. It's how love _works_. You can't deny that it was consensual, Lovino. You came to me."

His heart twisted when he saw Romano's red eyes and face, the way Romano was trembling and sad and scared. Romano tried to pull away from Spain, but Spain's clutch was too strong. "L-let go!"

"Everything between us was _love_, okay?" Spain said, gentle again. He did not release Romano's arm. The only thing he could see was Romano. The only things he could feel were too conflicting, anger and love, worry and love. "Unless you hate me—which you _don't_ because you willingly made love with me last night—then everything was love."

"Dammit, Spain! S-stop!"

Spain didn't know if Romano wanted for him to stop revealing these truths or to let go of Romano.

If Romano was leaving, they both needed to know that every occurrence between them had been _loving_, consensual. Romano needed to know, especially, Spain figured, since he kept denying denying denying. "You wanted it, Lovino." His hand squeezed tighter around Romano's arm. "Tell me that you wanted it."

"I. . ." Romano's breathing was labored, and he quivered in Spain's hold. "I. . . _Sp_ain!"

Spain stroked Romano's arm, always the comforting, loving caretaker. He wasn't hurting Romano any more than Romano was hurting him. "Tell me how much you wanted it, Lovino."

"Y-you're hurting me! F-fuck! Let go!"

He wasn't seeing only red. God, he couldn't have been seeing only red. That would place Romano on the receiving end of something painful. All Romano had to do was tell the truth, and that red would go away. "Did you want me, Lovino?"

"I. . . I. . ." Choking, Romano tried pulling at his arm again. He pressed his other arm, his free hand to Spain's chest, shoving at him as hard as he could. Romano stumbled, crying out when Spain refused to relinquish his hold. "I. . . w-wanted it."

"How much?" Spain's other hand grabbed at Romano as well, and he refused to let go. "How much, Lovino?"

"S-so. . ." Romano bit his lip, shuddering as he leaned back against the wall to support himself. "A lot! S-so, so much!"

Spain laughed. "Tell me how you willingly made love with me." Spain felt desperation in his tone, now. He needed to hear Romano say these things before he left. He needed these words from Romano to be forever imprinted on his heart, in his mind.

Romano stared at him, eyes watering. Spain's nails dug into Romano's skin, through his shirt. "B-but—"

"Tell me that you were eager and ready and you needed it because even though you love me you're leaving me, Lovino." His vision blurred, for a moment, and he grasped onto Romano for more support. "You're _leaving_!"

"I-I willingly," Romano gulped, and Spain managed to squeeze Romano's arms more tightly (worry, necessity, desire, Romano _had_ to say it, he _had_ to do this), "m-made love with you, S-Spain."

"Antonio," Spain corrected.

"A-Antonio. . ." Romano looked into Spain's eyes, his little tongue darting out to wet his lips, and whispered, "I w-was eager. I-I needed you."

Spain nodded, a flustered smile stretching across his face. He used his free hand to stroke Romano's cheek, to brush Romano's hair from his face.

"Yes. Yes." Romano stared at him, and Spain pressed on, "Tell me how you forced me to take action the first night, Lovino. Tell me how you led me on, since you're so _adamant_," he yanked at Romano's arm, pulling him forward from the wall as Romano cried out, "it wasn't yet proof that we love each other."

Romano shook his head. "B-but—" Spain's heart pounded loudly in his chest, the sound, for a moment, the only thing he could hear. "It was l-love, Antonio. D-dammit, i-it was love!"

He couldn't accept it unless Romano meant it. He couldn't just _lie_ to Spain right before prancing off to Austria's house. It wouldn't be right. Spain leaned closer toward his little Romano, "Tell me. Detail it." He knew his voice was huskier than Romano was used to hearing. He knew he'd just purred his words to Romano, but it didn't faze him. "Everything, Lovino."

"I l-led you on," he whimpered. Romano's hand on Spain's shoulder clutched Spain like a lifeline, a support to keep himself standing. "I t-touched y-you, and I ki-kissed you, and my. . ."

Spain looked at him in anticipation, glad to know that Romano understood. Romano loved him, it was so plainly obvious on his face, in his voice. "And? What else?"

"M-my clothes were. . . i-inappropriate. I d-didn't wear anything when I, when I sl-slept with y-you. . . And I. . . I shouldn't have. . . I sh-shouldn't have. . ."

Spain released his grip on Romano's arm, wrapping his arms around Romano's waist and pressing his face to Romano's chest. He could hear the erratic beating of Romano's heart, quick from his fear and his crying.

"It's okay, though. Boss Antonio loves you, anyway. Boss Antonio will always love you, Lovino. I'll never, ever stop loving you. Unlike everyone else. They've all left you, but not me, right, Lovino? No one could ever love you the way _I_ do."

Romano's hands rested on Spain's back. "R-right," he agreed, shaky and desperate.

"No one else has made love with you, right, Lovino? No one else has been inside you?" He laughed, frantic yet again, continuing, "And you won't ever let _anyone_ else touch you like me, right? You won't love anyone else like you love me? Because we love each other?" Spain shook, a little, and he breathed in the wonderful smell that was Romano.

They pulled away and stared at each other, thoughts racing in an obvious show on their faces.

"Only I will ever love you, Lovino. Everyone else will hurt you." Spain brushed away some of Romano's tears with his thumb. "But you understand now. You understand that you led me to loving you this way, you understand that it isn't wrong and it will never be wrong."

Romano bit his lip and nodded, his body shaking so much Spain almost felt regretful.

"You know how much of a role you played, right? You know how much we love each other?" Spain brushed some of Romano's soft hair from his face, gazing lovingly at his beautiful boy. Romano nodded again, giving Spain some peace. "I love you, Lovino."

Spain felt contented, at last. Romano had lied to himself for so long, but now he was at proper resolution with himself and with Spain. He understood that it had been consensual love between them. He _loved_ Spain.

At Spain's expectant look, Romano swallowed. Hesitantly, he leaned forward and kissed Spain, giving Spain his _rightful_ permission to touch and take his former lackey a final time. His tongue moved with Spain's, following the pattern Spain was setting, the rules and obligations Spain wanted him to follow.

Spain could taste the salt of Romano's tears, but because it was Romano, he couldn't help but enjoy every second of it. _I love you, Lovino_, he thought. Every fiber of his being, of his soul, felt the passion behind this thought. He smiled at the child in front of him, at the boy who would always, always, be his own.

"I. . ." Romano choked but forced himself to smile a watery smile at Spain, who could only hear the truth in Romano's voice. "I love you, too, Antonio."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This took so very **_**long**_**, didn't it? I'm sorry! *fail***

**It's not much of an ending (would you be able to tell it was an ending, if I hadn't told you here? XD), so I'm most likely going to end up writing an epilogue of sorts to tie up the loose ends that this monster of over 8,000 words couldn't seem to cover.**

**I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Thank you so, so much for reading all of this and putting up with me for this fic, especially if you took the time to review. ^^**

**Anonymous Review Replies:**

**Too lazy to log in – **Thank you so much! Sorry I took so long before updating again. XD

**(Anon with no subject) – **Ugh, tests and school sucked up my life until now. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!

**Fujoshi Anonim – **Ohmygosh, really? You actually liked it? *dies of excitement* I tried to focus more on Spain's and Romano's feelings because I wasn't sure how well I was doing with writing their actions. . . XD Sorry I took so long in updating. *fail* But, erm, thanks so so so much for reading and reviewing and sharing your thoughts. ^^

**Lurker on Meme and Fanfiction **– Wow! Alskdjfalksdjf—you've gotten everything and I just. . . I love you! I hope I can be coherent in this (freakishly condensed) response, because my thoughts are so jumbled and I'm so excited and gah! Thank you so much! Thanks for reading this even with the noncon. (Have you reviewed this on the meme? I feel like. . . I dunno. . .=P)

That was one of my main concerns when I started writing this. Realistically, the chances of someone falling in love with their rapist are slim (unless there's some psychological cause, like Stockholm Syndrome), and I wanted to deal with that. I also wanted to write about some of the negative aspects of these types of relationships, though I have to keep this fic short because of lack of time. I would write chapters upon chapters of this, if I could. *sigh*

O.O Yesyesyes! (Have you seen it somewhere? Woot for shared headcanons! I'd love to read that, if you can remember where it's from. XD) I detailed those aspects of Spain's influence on Romano in this chapter, and in the next chapter/epilogue, whenever I write it, I'll probably detail it a little more. But yeah, the creepy-factor of it (as well as the unfairness, the lack of choice Romano has, the way it negatively impacts his future, all of that) was definitely something I was aiming to write well.

I really have to shorten my reply to you, but, ohmygosh, thankyouthankyouthankyou!


End file.
